Teenage Angst
by Detestatleisure
Summary: HP6: What if Hermione, not Harry, had found Draco sobbing in the boys' lavatory? What would have happened between them afterwards? M for coarse language, adult themes and attempted rape in Ch16. Ch20: Draco has an epiphany and requests a walk with 'Mione.
1. The Bell Girl

~I only own the plot of this story~

(Draco)

Bile began to rise like bubbling tar in Draco Malfoy's throat. It was sour and hot, and the sticky feel of it caused him to retch. His breathing sped up and he started to tremble, struggling to keep control over his body, which had become frail from months of neglect. The task the Dark Lord has assigned him had truly had an effect on his mind, body and soul. He ground his teeth together in an attempt to release the stress which weighed against his chest like many bricks, and winced at the bitter sound and feel the action produced. The crippling tremors that flowed through him caused his throat to tighten and head to twitch in frustration and irritation.

He began to back out of the Great Hall, each slow, light step making a slight echo against the cold stone floor as his feet hit the ground. The scene before him, on top of the many other crippling thoughts and emotions that had been plaguing his cracking mind for the past few months, became too much to bear. A frantic heart pounded against his chest as it pumped perfectly pure blood through his veins and arteries, and his already quick breathing went up another notch on the dial – he was almost at hyperventilation now – and he spun around.

The Katie Bell girl was back at Hogwarts after a long stint in St. Mungo's – courtesy of him, Draco Malfoy, and the cursed necklace intended to kill Albus Dumbledore. Seeing her sympathetic and worried friends crowd around and question her caused a cocktail of emotions to surface which he, a Malfoy, should never have to feel – shame, guilt and resentment. The events of that fateful day flooded his mind, and he breathed a slow, raspy – and thankfully, he thought (for no true Malfoy should show signs of weakness in front of others) – tearless sob.

He shot an angsty look at the young Hufflepuff who glanced up at him from her breakfast, a genuinely concerned and very Hufflepuffesque expression on her pretty, dark face, and in a split second decision he broke into a no-holds-barred sprint through the grand doors of the cathedral-like room, which caused his body to jolt with the shock of each powerful stride he took.

His surroundings began to blur as tears prickled in his pewter grey eyes (the result of generations of careful breeding), and he staggered accidentally into a group of several shocked Ravenclaws, each of whom promptly shouted cat-calls of disgust after him as he ran on without apologizing. Their insults fell on deaf ears – he was too wrapped up in his problems to hear them.

At last he came upon the staircase he had been hunting for, and stopped for several seconds at the base of it. He ran his slender, pale fingers through the shock of blonde hair that had become a sort of trademark of his family, wiped the tears from under his eyes and off of his face with an immaculately clean, white shirt-sleeve cuff, and calmly began to ascend the staircase, the perfect picture of composure.

The only give-away of the angst fuelled battle raging inside him was his vice-like grip on the ornate banister, and glistening puffy eyes gave any observers of the crumbling boy-man a small clue into just how distraught Draco – the king of calm and apathy – was.

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God, I'd forgotten how short and terrible this chapter is. Please don't be put off by it, the story really does get better! D:

My love goes out to all who review/constructively criticise this chapter!


	2. Lavatory

(Draco)

Draco pushed open the heavy wooden door which led to the Boy's lavatory and closed it with a firm and steady hand. From the safety of the dark cloakroom, he took an apprehensive glance at the dank, high-ceilinged room before him. All of the stalls were empty.

He thanked Merlin for the small gift, of which he did not deserve, and undid the top several buttons of his shirt with shaking fingers. After smoothing his shirt down, he paced across to the sinks on the opposite side of the room whilst attempting to unknot his tie, kicking over a stand with tissues and various other toiletries upon it for good measure. Glass bottles of aftershave and scent shattered as they hit the floor. The fragments of glass scattered on impact and sweet aromas from the liquids that pooled in the middle of the room diffused into the air.

Upon reaching the set of sinks, he gripped the stiff silver tap marked H, which warmed from the heat of his hand. He turned it hurriedly until the water that gushed from it turned from yellow to clear - and promptly vomited a greenish, goopy liquid, devoid of any signs of nourishment, into the porcelain basin beneath him.

The sense of pure, unadulterated relief that came from upturning the contents of his stomach did not last long. He groaned, lowered his quivering head and rested his cheek against the edge of the cold sink in an attempt to find solace from his troubles. He closed his eyes, and long, white lashes brushed against the sallow, violet hollows beneath them. Beads of sweat laced his forehead and gave his skin – which would have made Snow White turn green with envy –a sheen that would not have been out of place on a feverish old man.

To any onlookers he would have bared some resemblance to a dreaming child – minus the innocence and happiness that so many childhood dreams contain. Breathing slowly, he tried to clear his head of the bad thoughts and memories that swirled around inside, to no avail. The sickly-sweet, acidic smell coming from the sink below, made worse by hot water which intensified it brought back that familiar feeling.

He clutched his sunken stomach with both spidery hands as a sour taste crept its way into his mouth and his head began to pound again. He bucked forward uncontrollably and his hands flew up to grip the sink. Blue veins bulged with strain under his ghostly skin. He glanced at the mirror.

And for the second time that day, Draco Malfoy threw up.

Exhausted from lack of sleep, emotional trauma, the overwhelming amount of energy it took to stay conscious and the searing, white hot pain in his stomach and throat, the Slytherin collapsed. He fell, ever so gracefully, to the cracked and yellowing tiles below him, and emitted a lamentable sob. It put Fawkes to shame.

His slow and quiet mews turned into heart-shattering cries, which gradually increased in volume for the several minutes – which seemed like aeons – he lay on the floor. They echoed around the room and mocked him. At that moment Draco was utterly full of loathing for himself and for the despicable weakness he was showing. With all the strength in his bruised and battered body, he raised his head and pulled his hawthorn wand from his trouser pocket and muttered an incantation which he hoped would dim the noise of his sobs - he would not allow his humiliation to be increased by some cretin wanting to know what the cause of the noise in the bathroom was.

The spell did not work – his voice was far too raspy and unintelligible. He cleared his throat and tried again, and again, and again, becoming increasingly agitated with every failed attempt. Finally satisfied that the spell had had the desired effect and wearied from the toll that casting it took on his body, his head lolled to the floor and hit it with a dull thud. Stars bloomed and clouded his vision and his wand slowly slid from his hand.

At long last, he had found the sweet oblivion he had been looking for. He lay spread-eagled on the lavatory floor, allowed his frantic heart to slow down and his breathing to deepen and decelerate. He forced his mind to steer clear of dark, morbid thoughts, and instead concentrated on meditation – something his father would, for definite, have scoffed at. Nevertheless, it worked, and when he was sure he was serene enough, he opened his eyes and blinked a few times to clear his vision. The arched, intricate ceiling of the toilets was a pleasant sight to awaken to.

Draco took another deep breath and sat up; resting his weight on his hands, and tested the proverbial water. He did not flop over, which he took as a sign of his recovery, and proceeded to push up onto his knees. He swivelled around to look at his reflection in the ironwork mirror screwed into the sink, and to his comfort he did not vomit at the sight of himself this time. In an attempt to improve his appearance, he straightened his shirt and made several absurd, slightly comical facial expressions which relieved muscle tension. After this he cupped his hand below the tap, which was now producing water that was steaming hot, and let it pool in his hand, ignoring the pain. He brought the water up to his face and splashed it over himself, and then repeated the process several times.

After finishing his little task, which kept his mind busy and free of undesired thoughts, he took another lengthy look in the mirror. Everything seemed to be in order; his attire was neat and his was face no longer red and blotchy from tears. He exhaled and ran a hand through his damp blonde locks, rooted around for his wand with his free hand and took a final glance into the mirror, and into his own eyes.

Looking into grey he eyes of the boy who would soon be a killer, who would have been the murderer of an innocent girl, – albeit a Gryffindor – the eyes of a servant of the Dark Lord, the eyes of a _Death Eater_, the eyes of one who had committed atrocities which no man should ever have to commit, the eyes of –

It was all too much for Draco to bear.

He sneered in disgust at his reflection, drew up his wand to mirror level, flicked it with malice and shattered the glass of the mirror before him and others which were adjacent to it. The glass burst forth, pieces of it glinting in the light, and with lightning speed Draco ducked down in an effort to escape the blast and save his handsome face, which was really all he had now his father was a convicted criminal.

Despairing, he let out a guttural wail, dropped to his knees and hastily rolled up his left sleeve. With all his might he tossed his wand across the chamber. It hit a window, bounced off it and fell to the floor like a rag doll. Screaming in rage, Draco began an assault on his arm, using his fingernails and teeth in a maniacal attempt to try to scratch away the magical brand which marked him as a life-long servant of Lord Voldemort. He did so until his arm was red raw, screaming and wailing until his throat was the same. All the while the serpentine mark stayed unaffected – it was even more pronounced against his red, aggravated skin – and it twisted and turned, mocking the desperate boy.

Draco jumped up, scanned the room, ran forwards to the toiletry stand which had not been knocked over and began to hurl anything and everything that came to hand to the wooden door in the opposite wall. When everything had been destroyed but a plush toilet roll, the door creaked open.

A disembodied feminine head, bushy haired, pale and lovely, worriedly poked its way around the door. Draco's eyes widened. How in bloody hell had he been disturbed? Had the muffling charm he had cast been so weak it had betrayed him before his little fit reached its natural conclusion?

The head belonged to Potter's bitch – the know-it-all, mudblood, Gryffindor bint, _Hermione Granger_. She slowly edged round the door, her sympathetic, brown, doe-like eyes just as wide as his own, and opened her pouty little mouth.

'Draco? _Draco Malfoy_?'

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Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed my story so far! Chapter two was a little longer than my last and I pray you enjoyed it, I really loved writing it for you. Those of you who take the time to review are absolutely wonderful and I hope more of you will review in the future! I'll hopefully update later today or tomorrow, I am really loving how this is playing out so far and I hope you, my readers, are too.

Laura


	3. Moaning Draco

(Hermione)

It was five minutes until midday, and Hermione Granger was desperate to reach the library before it closed – she was absolutely _dying_ to get ahead of Draco Malfoy (Who, for all of his half-witted remarks about her hair, had proven himself to be rather intelligent – for a Slytherin, of course) in Arithmancy. She checked the dainty silver wristwatch her Grandmother had given her, a congratulatory gift for doing well in her OWLs. Four minutes to midday. Hermione huffed.

She trotted through the corridor at a pace that was just a little too fast for her liking, and muttered flustered apologies to those she bumped library did not usually close so early on a Saturday, but Madame Pince had a date with Argus Filch, the caretaker, at Madame Puddifoot's Teashop. She smiled to herself; as past middle-aged and sour as they both were, it had been inevitable that the two of them would get together in the end.

Hermione twitched her nose and brushed her fingertips over her eyebrows in an attempt to neaten them, something she often did when she was worried or irritated. _Arithmancy for the Advanced Witch or Wizard _looked to be a wonderfully fascinating bit of light reading – Hermione considered any book with less than eight hundred pages to be 'light' reading – and she just _had_ to have it. The library was just around the corner. Perhaps, if she was lucky, Hermione pondered, Madame Pince would stay for just a few more minutes so she could check out the book for her. They were on relatively good terms, she thought, of course, how could a _librarian_ dislike –

An odd noise, which was not dissimilar to the wail Crookshanks emitted when he wanted to be fed, distracted Hermione from her bookish thoughts as she walked, nearly ran, past the disused boy's toilets. She tutted and rolled her eyes in frustration. Moaning Myrtle was probably floating around in there, complaining in her simpering, hiccoughy little voice to the u-bend about her tragic early death in the Chamber of Secrets, how everyone disliked her, and the horrifying ways in which she would kill herself all over again if she was given the chance. Hermione had no patience for the ghost – which was unusual, as Hermione loved to listen to the tales the ghosts of Hogwarts had tell. Like many things academic, she would describe them as _wonderfully fascinating_.

It was two and a half minutes to twelve when she finally burst through the door of the library, as silently as possible. Which, of course, was not very silently – Hermione was most definitely not many things, including silent, when in an erratic, hairbrained frame of mind. Ignoring Madame Pince's hateful glare, Hermione covered her mouth in an attempt to hide the smile brought to her face by the librarian's odd outfit (Which was more than certainly an attempt to impress Filch) and bustled over to the bookcase marked advanced. She stood on her tiptoes, tutted, did an odd little half-jump and grabbed for the book of her desires, which rested on the very top shelf.

Madame Pince scowled at Hermione, who had 'disturbed the peace of the library' as she carefully handed over the textbook. The librarian stamped the return date on it with vigour and thrust it back at a very shocked Hermione, scowling all the while. Even Madame Pince's favourites did not get treated well if they upset the woman. Hermione glanced at the wall-clock behind Madame Pince and breathed a grateful sigh; it was exactly midday.

Hermione strolled through the corridor on her way back to Gryffindor tower, absorbed by the thick book she held open in her hands. She had purposely taken the longer route back as it was Saturday and the common room would be full of distractions, and she wished to enjoy as much of her book as she could without Ron bleating in her ear to help him with his Potions work. Coincidently, the scenic route led past the toilets in which earlier Hermione was sure she had heard Moaning Myrtle. As she walked past the door she slowed down subconsciously – Hermione took a great deal of pleasure in telling others how they irritated her, and she would not miss a chance to upset one of her least favourite people.

It was not surprising to Hermione that Myrtle's lament had increased in volume; common knowledge was that the ghost would wail louder and louder until an unlucky person who needed the toilet would stumble upon her, and have to listen to her do what she did best. Moan. Hermione stowed her book in her bag, stomped towards the door and breathed in deeply, ready to verbally attack Myrtle. She poked her head around the door, now slightly ajar in order made sure it was indeed Myrtle who was crying in the lavatory. As bossy and ready to complain as Hermione was, she did not like to be embarrassed or embarrass others without cause.

To her utter shock and disbelief it was not Myrtle who was crying in the bathroom, nor was it anyone who Hermione would have expected to find indulging in Myrtle-like activities – namely girls similar to or Cho Chang herself. No, it was not anyone of the sort – in fact; it was Mister Emotionally Strong, Master of Cool, King of Composure, or the many other names he went by. It was, undoubtedly – she could tell this from his short, white hair and slender frame –

'Draco? _Draco Malfoy_?'

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So, now you all know why Hermione was snooping around in the boy's toilets! :) I'll hopefully update again in the next couple of hours, and it will be a Draco chapter - I think that's probably the best way to go about it. You might've noticed that I'm now putting a character name in brackets above each chapter, it's just to keep it clear who the chapter is following/narrating. In a desperate attempt to get reviews I've decided not to publish the next chapter unless I get 5+ more reviews, from 15 at this time, so get reviewing! Thank you to each and every one of you who've reviewed and/or favourited, you're all wonderful! -squeezes-

Laura


	4. Hands

(Draco)

A heavy weight pressed down on Draco's chest as the Mudblood uttered his name, and that weight consisted of guilt, shame, confusion, sadness and contempt. Mostly contempt. The mass of the weight twinned with his shock at Granger's presence knocked the breath out of him, and he was left feeling oddly empty. For a moment or two he forgot about everything but her and stood transfixed, with toilet roll in hand, bolt upright and as still as death. All emotions but utter disbelief were swept from his mind.

It was at this time his abandoned tantrum reared its ugly head again – before he could make any sense of the situation, and he let out another slow moan, which was full of desperation. His voice cut out before he could finish it, and because of this it must have seemed somewhat choked. His mouth hung open. He became aware of the toilet roll in his hand again and pelted it at Hermione. It seemed like the correct thing to do. She promptly squealed and raised her small hands to her face in order to protect herself from any oncoming projectiles and luckily for her, there were no more toilet rolls to project; Draco would have happily continued his target practice for the rest of the day if not for the small inconvenience.

Draco despaired as the misery of the impossible scene finally sunk in and dropped like a fly to the floor below him. He quivered and shook momentarily, closed his eyelids – which were now a kind of violent lavender colour, and re-commenced his uncontrollable weeping. It did not matter much to him any more that the muggle-born whore was still present. He expected her to cautiously back out of the room, shake her head in disbelief and never speak of the subject again; the little incident would, he reassured himself as he cried in the sticky pool of aftershave and soap he had created earlier, be far too embarrassing for her to recall to anyone – even Potter or Weasley.

Unfortunately for Draco Hermione had developed a caring, maternal side. She padded apprehensively over to where he lay, and squatted down. Her knees cracked as she did so. Draco forced open his eyes, which were slick with tears, and scowled up at her. Still she did not retreat. He truly wished to reach up and scratch her eyes out, but did not want to waste what little strength he had left on _her_. At least, that was what he told himself – although he had significantly hardened recently, it was at his most vulnerable that Draco reverted to a small boy, whose dearest wish it was to be comforted and held by his Mummy.

But Mummy was not here now, and Mummy would not be around for some time. It was likely that Mummy was cooped up at home, pining for Daddy, who was, at present, locked up in Azkaban. Granger would have to do. He could clear his memory of what had, so far, been an utterly revolting Saturday later.

Draco clenched shut his eyes once again as the weight on his chest became too much to bear, and slowly dragged his bitten, ragged fingernails up the inner side of his left arm. Self harm was not a good habit to get into, but it enabled him to focus on the pain of the moment, rather than the many pains of the past – which he relived often enough in his nightmares. Oh, he was perfectly aware of the fact that whatever he did to himself on his left arm the Dark Lord would feel too, due to the mark he so loathed, but that spurred him on even more. The cold bastard deserved to know of the great deal of suffering he had put Draco through. In fact, he would probably savour it, the sadomasochist that he was. That revelation made him consider halting, but he continued anyway. To hell with it, he uttered with despondence.

Then at once he felt a soft, warm hand on his forehead. He felt the frantic pulse coming from within it as it smoothed over his hair and wiping the tears away from his blue, frigid cheeks. He stiffened at first but after allowing himself to forget the hand belonged to a woman he had hated with such a fierce passion for six long years Draco calmed down a great deal. Another equally soft hand clutched gently at one of his own, the fingers if which were still – if not feebly – digging into his wrist. More insistently now, the feminine hand tugged at his, a desperate gesture which he knew was a wordless attempt to get him to stop hurting himself. Not thinking, he did.

Torn between indulging in serenity and doing the right thing, Draco's heart sped up again, and he sighed in vexation. He had been taught to put loyalty before personal pleasure from an early age, and so he reached up and pushed Granger away with disgust, all the while keeping his eyes closed – if he opened them he would surely lose control of his stomach again. Neither of the players in this odd performance would want the embarrassment that would bring.

The hands withdrew, shaking like a leaf in the wind as they left his skin, and when they had retreated from his personal space he got up and ran away from his problems, just like a frightened child would. Draco opened his eyes when he was positive the wench would not be within eyesight, spotted his wand and ran over to it. He scooped it up with his wand hand, sat down and rested his head against the stone wall behind him, brought his knees up to his chest and broke into a fresh set of dry, hiccoughy sobs.

Through the noise of his keening Draco's ears picked out the light pitter-patter of feet, which grew a little louder until he could feel the presence of the doxy they belonged to right by him. Hesitantly Draco opened one eye and closed it again when his fears were confirmed. Damn her.

She was, for definite, a persistent little thing, he brooded, as her arms enveloped him and brought him to her chest. He winced at the tender feel of her body, which he yearned for yet retched at the same time. Draco tried to push her away many times, but after each feeble shove the mudblood drew him back into her warm embrace. It was no use. He groaned, and concentrated on the _obliviate! _which would come soon enough. Sod tradition.

As clichéd as it was, the minutes Draco spent in Hermione's care really did feel like hours. He had scoffed at it before, but there was some truth to Dumbledore's ramblings about 'love' and its powers of healing. Of course, being a Malfoy, Draco did not believe in love, but whatever he felt at present was better than any feeling any amount of self harm ever could bring.

When he was positive he would not projectile vomit at Weasley's harlot if he looked into her eyes, he opened his own. She appeared to be very uncomfortable with the situation, which was absolutely fine with him. He was unsure to get out of her embrace, which, to be frank, disgusted him now he was aware it was _Hermione Granger_ he had shared the moment with. So, in a moment of madness, he freed his arms from between his and Granger's chest, reached up and grabbed the back of her soft head of hair with one hand, yanked her close to him with more force than was entirely necessary, and kissed her feverishly with lips of stone.

She did not respond to the kiss and in fact jumped at his cold touch, looked at him with disgust and promptly ran away from him. He watched as she ran out of his sight and grinned like a Cheshire cat as the toilet door slammed shut. Draco stretched, and sprung to his feet.

It felt good to be back to his old self again.

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God, I'm glad that's over. It was very awkward to write Draco/Hermione tenderness! Don't worry, it's not going to stay as sweet as this for long, if all works out. ;)

-yawn- It's 3:26am. I bloody spoil you all. Night night everyone! Thanks for the wave of reviews that rolled in for that last chapter, they all made me smile. c:

Keep reviewing, your kind words really do give me the motivation to keep working at this!

Laura


	5. Bushy Haired Vulture

(Draco)

For Draco, keeping up appearances was easy at first. Like a walk through Hogsmeade on a sunny afternoon in June. Tormenting those who he considered to be below him – for example the Longbottom boy, who Crabbe and Goyle took great pleasure in jinxing, tripping up and embarrassing – was welcome relief from the difficult task the Dark Lord had set him – which he was still having a great deal of trouble completing. With every day that passed Voldemort became more and more irate, and took his anger out on Draco through excruciating pain delivered by the Dark Mark. It made every cell in his body scream in agony and at times he found it hard to stay conscious. No longer could Draco find solace in the oblivion sleep brought about - horrifying dreams which caused Draco to awake most nights, tearful, panting and sweaty, plagued his mind. A month after his bathroom charade with Granger the small cracks in his well built façade were beginning to show.

He stopped appearing at the Slytherin table for meals in a desperate attempt to spend more time in the Room of Requirement and because of this became ever thinner; losing the physique he had built up through hundreds of games of Quidditch and rigorous middle-of-the-night training sessions with Blaise. Whispered rumours about him were being spread, but when one became too much of a threat, Draco paid a visit to whomever had started it and silenced them. Dobby, under duress, had taken in the expensive black suit Draco had been favouring more than once. Draco's cheekbones became painfully pronounced and his large blue eyes lost their devil may care sparkle. He took to showering alone at three in the morning to save himself from awkward questions which were sure to come if his house-mates had a chance to see his battered new body. His hands, to put it simply, were skeletal.

Not even Snape – who had been following around like a lost dog of late – noticed the subtle, well-disguised changes in him. No, Hermione Granger and her irritatingly high level of observance was the first to become truly suspicious. Other girls whispered as they fawned over him that he and Pansy, who was also becoming more sullen – mainly because Draco had been ignoring her frankly nauseating attempts to get back together with him –, had taken some kind of masochistic pact together. Granger was spending less and less time with Potter and Weaslebee due to his sickening new girlfriend and he had caught her staring at him more times than he felt comfortable with.

The Mudblood had taken to eyeing him from across the room in lessons they shared, wrinkling her nose whenever he winced from the regular blasts of pain which came from the Dark Lord, sighed or moved in an abnormal way. She had developed the appearance of a bushy-haired vulture. To throw her off the scent he developed a new and quintessentially Malfoy strut which he put into play whenever he caught her staring between lessons, and would wave casually and wink at her when he strolled past her in the corridors. She too would have to be silenced, he decided as he bared his teeth at her in a particularly charming grin outside double potions one afternoon.

Draco completed the frighteningly easy assignment Slughorn had set the class in the first half of the lesson, much to Granger's dismay. He smirked at the sight of her as she became ever bushier haired and frantic as the lesson wore on – her potions crown had been taken from her by Saint Potter this year, and she was determined to get it back. Draco glared at the boy, who was coolly crushing something or other with a silver knife. He proceeded to pull a spare bit of parchment from his pocket, withdrew a quill and dark green ink from the depths of his expensive leather bag and set to work.

The note took no more than ten minutes to write, and Draco was pleased with the final result. It was succinct and contained just about the right amount of venom to frustrate the bint enough to come and seek him out. He signed it with a short flourish, charmed the ink dry and folded it in a precise, neat line. Chewing his quill in thought, Draco decided it would be more in keeping with the tone of the note to address her as Mudblood, not Granger – a name she truly hated and was more likely to respond to. He scrawled the name on the front of the note, underlined it for malicious effect and slotted it in his robe pocket. Draco looked up and noticed he had Granger's attention again. He flashed the girl a smile; put his feet up on the desk and his hands behind his head in a suave and confident manner, knowing fully well of the effect it would have on her and every other floozy in the room.

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Sorry for the shorter chapter everyone, but I didn't want to drag it out more than was necessary... am going to start work on the next one now, but where should Draco hand her the note? Where do you all think will have the students talking, and where would all eyes be on Draco? A sporting event maybe? In your review tell me where you think he should hand it over and the best idea I receive will be worked into the plot. :) I've got an idea in my head, but can any of you come up with something better? Review, review, review and let me know! :3

Laura


	6. Hello Mudblood

(Hermione)

Hermione placed her glass of pumpkin juice down on the table and glanced hopefully at the doors of the great hall before she had a chance to refrain herself. She instantly wished she had not – Lavender and 'Won-Won' had just entered and were looking deep into each others eyes with gooey expressions on their faces as Ron walked and Lavender skipped, hand in hand, to dinner. Lovely, she muttered, and snapped open the Prophet again, immersing herself in a story about Hinkypunks infiltrating the Ministry – a very Quibbleresque article written by a wizard whose name bore a striking resemblance to 'Stewed Applesauce'. If she had to watch the two of them spoon feed each other again, she mused, she would vomit.

She had not seen Draco Malfoy since double potions on Thursday and was becoming quite worried about his whereabouts – just thinking about the condition the Slytherin had been in during their encounter in the toilets made her stomach sink. She tried to hope for the best, but the worst could not be ruled out… Although he was fooling everyone else, Hermione remained unconvinced by his terrible acting. She had been watching him often enough for the last month to know that something was deeply wrong with the boy…

Whenever he thought no-one was looking his guard fell, and a fraction of the pain he had to endure could be witnessed every time he winced, every one of which caused her heart to twist a little more. To make matters worse he had been ignoring her completely since their last eventful meeting, apart from the mocking smiles and raised eyebrows she would receive when he caught her glancing his way. He was scared and confused, she knew… the way he had mutilated his arm like that… the Dark Mark … his guttural sobs on the toilet floor… She knew she had to help him, and it was very obvious he needed a shoulder to cry on, but did he have to treat her with such disdain? Was it out of habit, or out of fear of whatever he was feeling? She could not know. She had never been much of a leglimens.

It was absolutely absurd and illogical that she had developed such strong feelings for him. He had been mercilessly cruel to Harry and her for such a long time, and Ron too, but she dare not think about that slimy bastard, who at the present time – she rolled her eyes – was being fed cake by Lavender Brown. Being Hermione, a being who relied upon logic to stay sane, she had worked out just why she was suddenly attracted to Draco Malfoy. She had several theories, the majority of them revolving around how utterly helpless he had looked, curled up in the foetal position in a pool of assorted toiletries, and that she had a sudden desire to save him from himself and, of course, Lord Voldemort.

However, and Hermione knew this, the real reason she was falling for him was the way he had kissed her. How it had been so desperate, insisting and hard… the way he had held onto her hair with such strength. Her scalp tingled at the mere thought. He had taken the lead, and it had felt good… Victor had never been so domineering, preferring her to lead him on like some common harpy… the kiss scared her and she had ran away from him, but reflecting upon it, she yearned to be kissed like that again, and by Draco, too. None of these thoughts had she confided to anyone, not even Ginny, who had been such a good friend to her of late… it was crystal clear that the red-head would dismiss her feelings and tell her to move on, it was _Malfoy_ who was the object of her affections, for Merlin's sake…

A collective gasp, very alike to a strong gust of wind, brought her out of her daydream. Hermione shook her head, removed her chin from her hand and looked up. Even Ron and Lavender had broken apart from their slimy kiss to see what the fuss was about. She followed the direction of their gaze and gasped along with the rest of them – there he was, the man himself, Lord Suave, strutting through the entrance to the Great Hall, as she had wished him to for days. He had that despicable air about him that many of pure blood did, and was smiling and waving at those who gawped at him as if nothing was wrong with him, nothing at all…

And to the casual observer, there would not have appeared to be anything wrong with Draco Malfoy. It was only once one looked through the blinding layer of beauty and mystique that was Draco Malfoy and saw just how unbelievably _thin _he was, and how exhausted and defeated he appeared to be did it became obvious that his absence from the public eye had not done him any favors.

Draco did not stop to sit down in his usual spot at the Slytherin table – which out of respect for him his friends and followers had kept empty for his eventual return – as Hermione and the rest of the student body expected him to. No, he carried on walking; swinging his arms in a very upbeat manner, until he arrived at the end of the Gryffindor table which Hermione was seated at. He halted and turned to her. His eyes, which were at the point of drooping shut, still somehow managed to retain their enamoring sparkle.

'Hello, Mudblood.' He paused and grabbed his chest, as if short of breath. 'I've a note for you…'

Draco did not hand over the promised note, neither did he elaborate. His eyes widened and he drew in a shaky breath. Then he crumpled into a pale heap at Hermione's feet.

--

So, no note? Would he have given it to her, or is Draco softening up a little? Whatever is going to happen next? We shall see...

A desperate plea for reviews here, I'm feeling a little discouraged... many of you have favourited me and that's brilliant, but I do love to read your opinions on my work! :*

I'll try to update tomorrow if I feel up to it, I've got a slight headache. :/

Laura


	7. Skin and Bone

(Hermione)

Hermione, her presence hidden by the great number of distressed Slytherins following the limp body of Draco Malfoy, surged forwards along with the rest of the rabble. A teary eyed Gregory Goyle, who carried the boy who he so fervently worshipped, was a few metres ahead of the rest of the group. He took slow and mournful strides, as if the poster child for pure-blood arrogance who lay limp in his beefy arms was dead and not unconscious. Naturally, Vincent Crabbe was at his side, in step with his best friend. His beady little eyes were trained upon Malfoy, desperately searching for signs of life.

Malfoy's sombre procession through Hogwarts continued for some time, members of every house tagging along to see what had happened to the infamous boy. Even the Portraits of the school looked down curiously from their frames as they walked past, and Sir Cadogan, in his pompous way, stopped to remark on the tragedy and recommended they 'Make your way to the infirmary, noble students, post-haste!', before cantering away on his fat little pony. After running into them on the first floor, Professor Snape, whose thin mouth was turned down and slightly open with anxiety, took over the carrying of his godson after much fuss from the reluctant Crabbe and Goyle; the drama resulted in clouts over the head for the both of them. Even Snape, who was usually as full of emotion as a dead squirrel, looked quite concerned about Draco's condition. Of course, he had made the Unbreakable Vow with Draco's mother, which probably had some relevance to his presence at the scene.

At the entrance to the hospital wing, where an anxious Madame Pomfrey stood twisting her hands awkwardly, Snape turned, his robes swirling in a very bat like manner, and ordered the students away in his apathetic drawl. They protested, in the form of shouts of 'But he's our friend!' and 'That's not fair!', but quickly scarpered after the teacher spun on his heel and shot them all a malicious glare. He did, however, allow Blaise Zabini (Who had emerged rather sheepishly from a broom cupboard with Millicent Bullstrode after hearing the commotion), Crabbe, Goyle and a shrieking Pansy Parkinson into the ward with him. The latter, before being rebuffed sharply by an irate Professor Snape tried to – in a rather hysteric manner – shake Malfoy awake.

To avoid discovery Hermione darted behind a worn stone pillar and cast a disillusionment charm over herself (Which was a very un-Hermione like thing to do, although, she thought to herself as she cast the spell – situations such as the one she was in called for such criminal methods), wincing at the sensation, much like raw egg, that spread from on top of her hair and into and through her hair. She slipped through the hospital wing's heavy wooden door as it was about to creak shut, and snuck up on the party of Slytherins crowded around Draco's sickbed. The three male Slytherin students stood awkwardly at the end of the bed watching as Pansy knelt at Draco's side, sobbed into his mattress and clutched his hand. Hermione tutted in frustration at the silly girl. A short distance away from the group Snape was holding a hushed conversation with Madame Pomfrey. She had to ask several times for him to repeat himself; the greasy-haired man was speaking in a manner that was both too quick and quiet for human ears. Interested in the content of their exchange, Hermione crept over to the pair and stood as close as she could without risking detection. She caught the woman in mid sentence.

'…appears to have fainted from serious malnutrition and sleep deprivation… I have treated Master Malfoy for Quidditch wounds a few times in the past; he has lost an unhealthy portion of his body weight, by the looks of it… This could be down to an eating disorder, which although improbable, cannot be ruled out… I also suspect he has been through some kind of mental or emotional breakdown, which would have come about after an extended period, or periods, of depression, stress, and anxiety,' Madame Pomfrey stopped for breath; evidently Malfoy's list of ailments was too long for one sentence. 'Hand in hand with such breakdowns often come nightmares and, unfortunately, self mutilation…' She sighed and trailed off of the end of her sentence. Snape frowned and shook his head. 'In short, Professor, Master Malfoy is a very, very troubled young man… You do not have any ideas as to why this has happened to him, do you? I know that you are an accomplished leglimens; perhaps you could take a look at his mind? This would all be in aid of helping the boy, of course…' Snape, who appeared to be uncomfortable with the interrogation, opened and closed his mouth. Poppy raised her eyebrows, and began to talk again, a strained edge to her voice. 'It is… well known… that many of his relations are in league with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named… his father, of course, was recently incarcerated in Azkaban… perhaps Draco is being punished for his father's mistakes? Severus, I implore you… If you know anything, anything at all, tell me. It will help to speed up his recovery a great deal- '

Professor Snape cut her off, and in an angry, hissing voice said: 'That is quite enough, Poppy! I am no longer in contact with the Dark Lord and woefully regret the time I spent in his service. It caused a great deal of… heartache, for myself and those I have cared about...' She attempted to explain herself, but the man continued with his speech before she could get a word in edgeways. 'I refuse to hear any more of your accusations. I will return tomorrow, and I expect a full report, ready by that time, detailing every aspect of Draco's condition. Good night, Poppy.' He spat out her name and stormed out of the large room, his robes billowing behind him, in which Madame Pomfrey stood, quivering and quite shocked at his outburst.

The elderly woman regained composure and strode over to Draco, who was still out cold and looking very frail and broken. Hermione followed close behind her, sat down as quietly as she could on the chair by his bedside, and hoped she would not be noticed. Madame Pomfrey began her assessment of his condition by removing the upper garments of the suit he was wearing with her wand. What greeted her and Hermione, who was now standing, arms crossed and teary eyed, made them gasp. Hermione winced. Draco was too thin for words… his pelvic bones jutted out like mountains, and his stomach dipped so far inwards that the area had the appearance of some kind of grotesque flesh and bone valley… Skin stretched taut over his ribs, each of which was defined clearly. His neck and collarbones were so devoid of fat that only paper thin skin and a network of bulging blue veins covered them… his face, too, was angular and alien… He was covered, from the base of his neck to his tiny waist, in bruises of a variety of colours ranging from pale yellow to almost black. Deep gashes, some fresh and some beginning to heal, joined the bruises to form some kind of sick pattern… Hermione, tears now falling in earnest from her red eyes, reached down to touch his shoulder, as if wishing to comfort… She quickly pulled it back up upon remembering that she was not the only person in the room. Poppy covered her mouth in horror, gulped and forced herself to continue. Her eyes broke away from his torso and slowly travelled to his arms, as if afraid of what they may have to witness…

Hermione knew what she would see and hastily looked away, tears streaming down her face. Madame Pomfrey, however, was not so lucky and spluttered as her eyes, as full of tears as Hermione's were, were drawn to the Dark Mark branded upon Draco's emaciated arms… it was covered in cuts, scratches and scorch marks of varying degrees of horror… Draco had seemingly tried to remove it, and failed terribly. The Mark was as defined as Hermione had ever seen it, if not stretched slightly along with Draco's strained skin. Oddly, though, his right arm was completely free of such marks…

Madame Pomfrey, who had turned a sickly shade of green, could not take any more, and ran sobbing and traumatized from the room. Hermione, however, forced herself to stay and cupped a hand to Draco's drawn face, her eyes full to the brim with pain and empathy. She forced herself to stop crying, wiped away the salty tears that adorned her face, pulled out her wand, and as expertly as the Matron herself, began to mutter spells directed at Draco's body. One by one, the cuts began to seal and the bruises faded, the blossoms sinking back into Draco's skin as if they had never been there…

Oh, Hermione deplored, if only she could do the same to his broken mind…

--

Whew, finally got it finished. I hated writing that! Poor Draco... D: Thank you, thank you, thank you, to everyone who has reviewed and favourited the last chapter! I would like to send special thanks to Ally, Euphoria123 and LoreLore, who have simply made my heart swell with their kind words. This chapter was especially for you!

Laura


	8. Complying With Whims

(Hermione)

'You know, Dear, I remember what it was like, being young, and being in love... Such a wonderful, yet confusing time…' Madame Pomfrey gave a distant smile as she looked down at Hermione, a glint in her cloudy eyes. She appeared to be reliving memories of more care free periods in her life.

Hermione quickly withdrew her hand, as if burned, from Draco's bed. She swivelled round in her chair, her mouth open in a gormless fashion, and started to gabble. 'I – not love – don't be silly! - Arithmancy project – working together – Harry and Ron – busy – wanted company – I…' She blushed desperately, and motioned to the neat array of notes on the otherwise empty bedside table next to her and the hefty book in her lap. The Matron nodded knowingly. 'You've been sat at the young man's side almost constantly for the past three days, Miss Granger… enquiring about his condition more times than the all of the Slytherin students who have swaggered in here, and believe me, there have been many… I know the signs, Dear, I know the signs…' The older woman patted Hermione's tense shoulder gently. Her short, wrinkled fingers and well-groomed nails pressed down into the girl's woollen jumper. Smiling down at Hermione, who was staring at the intriguing patterns in the floor tiles, she gave a tinkling little laugh and sauntered off to check on the other patients in the ward, one of whom – a young Ravenclaw with a thick bandage wrapped around his head – was groaning feebly and clutching his stomach.

More than a little disgruntled by her conversation with Madame Pomfrey, Hermione coughed awkwardly, picked up and re-shuffled her many Arithmancy notes, which were colour coded and ordered in a fastidious way that would be instantly recognisable as Hermione's handiwork to anyone who read them. She stole a glance at Draco and cautiously slid one of her slender hands back over to the spot where it had been previously, where there was a somewhat hand shaped dent in the duvet. The dip was still warm – her hand had been in the same place by his thin, stationary right arm for most of the weekend. She wouldn't dare place it any closer out of her fear of waking the Slytherin from his slumber; public humiliation would be a guaranteed result of getting caught in such a compromising position. There had very nearly been such an encounter with Pansy Parkinson, which had been barely avoided thanks to some quick thinking on Hermione's part. Draco was still – thankfully – unconscious and breathing deeply, his chest rising and falling in time to the old fashioned clock that hung on the wall opposite to Hermione.

Draco was still quite thin, but not as brutally so as he had been four nights ago. Neither did he look like somebody had tossed him off of the astronomy tower – the majority of his cuts and bruises had been healed in a joint effort by Madame Pomfrey and Hermione (Although said joint effort was not known to both parties). The great improvement was very reassuring to the concerned girl, who did not wish to have any more worries to add to her already high and teetering pile. Hermione had not known there was such a thing as a weight gain charm, but Madame Pomfrey was able to cast them expertly, and because of this Draco no longer looked like a human skeleton; his face had lost its angular, inhuman look and a little colour had returned to his skin, although his cheek bones were still slightly visible beneath his severe, pointed face. He had not been tossing and turning whilst he slept, indicating the presence of peaceful dreams, and had, once or twice, smiled weakly and twitched his fingers, as people so often do when they dream.

This new, quiet Draco, Hermione had decided, was vastly preferable to the snarky, foul boy he was when he was awake and she had become fiercely protective of him; she would scowl at anyone who stared at the odd pair on their way to visit friends or relatives, and tutted and made a fuss whenever Madame Pomfrey interfered with his bandages or came to change his linen. Those maternal emotions did still cause some niggling questions to rise in the back of Hermione's mind but she pushed them away – his silent company had been much comfort to her during the difficult time she had been going through in the current year. Ron was still as loved up with Lavender as ever – the two of them writhed around like eels together on their favourite armchair in the common room every evening, and even Ginny was rarely around to spend time with Hermione any more, due to a certain Dean Thomas. Harry had developed an unhealthy obsession with Lord Voldemort, the Half-Blood Prince and hunting down Horcruxes – in fact he rarely wanted to talk about anything else and Hermione felt like they were slowly starting to drift apart. When she had to leave Draco's side at the end of visiting hours she was either buried in a book or writing and rewriting NEWT coursework, receding more and more into her little shell.

*

The weekend had at last run its course, and Hermione took comfort in the fact that the routine of lessons and strict schedules were just a night's sleep away. Saturday and Sunday had been strained and unpleasant – at least the time not spent in the hospital wing had been – and she had retired to the confines of her empty dormitory for some peace and quiet. Questions were being asked by people (These came mainly from those who wished for help with essays and studies) who had noticed her familiar face had not been present in the common room, and Hermione would have given anything to avoid them. The pressure of the upcoming NEWT mock exams was beginning to set in and although it was not even Christmas, the seeds of Hermione's fabled pre-exam panic had been planted in her mind.

It had been comforting at first, the silence of the dormitory, and she spent a pleasant hour or so sitting by one of the small latticed windows by her bed, staring into the overcast, twilit winter sky, stroking a purring Crookshanks absentmindedly and reflecting on Thursday's enjoyable transfiguration class, in which she had perfected human to avian transfiguration on an unwilling Neville Longbottom. Hermione's brilliant brain, however, had become tired of gazing at the milky new moon and craved stimulation. She happily complied with the whim and pushed up from the cold floor, checking her watch as she did so. It was quarter to six. The hospital wing had been closed for fifteen minutes, but her sudden desire to see Draco's face was so all-encompassing that she disregarded her fondness for sticking to the rules, raced out of the common room and made her way to the fourth floor.

--

Argh! I am so sorry I didn't upload this yesterday, the damn broadband went down and didn't come back up until today. I don't think this chapter was quite as good as it could have been, but it takes us to where we need to be for the next one, which I'm writing now and will *hopefully* have up for you by tomorrow evening. The Summer holidays start for me tomorrow, so I'll have lots more time to spend with Draco and Hermione. Sorry if this story seems like it's meandering along a little bit, there will be some action soon, I promise! c:

Reviews = EPIC love. Not as many as I'd hoped for for the last chapter, have I scared you off? I think 12 for chapter six has been the best so far, can we get to fifteen for this one? I love to hear from you, no matter what you have to say, and they really do get me in the right frame of mind for writing. *eyes sparkle* :D Just don't tell me this chapter's too short... the paragraphs are longer, that's all! ;)

Laura


	9. Confessions

(Draco)

He had been drifting in and out of consciousness for most of the day, but it was a short, bitter scraping sound that hurled Draco back into consciousness with a start. His eyes, which were sore and itchy from fatigue, snapped open, and his pupils contracted as scattered beams of moonlight hit them. He hissed as grey stars bloomed in his eyes, which took away his vision and made his head thump with dizziness; a week of disuse had left the two orb-like organs weak and the sudden overdose of light left Draco in acute pain. Hastily, he squeezed them shut and opened them several times so they could get used to the task of seeing again, and the grey stars that clouded his vision gradually retreated back into nothingness.

Pins and needles tingled in his feet and hands as feeling began to seep back into his limbs. Draco became aware of how stiff and achy his body felt and tried to sit up in order to stretch out the discomforting sensation, but he was far too constricted to do so. The healer woman must have been about to post him off to some far flung place, he scoffed, as he tugged with numb, fumbling hands at the duvet that strapped him to his bed. After a minute or so of yanking a well tucked in corner came free of its imprisonment under his mattress, and the rest of the covers soon followed suit. Free of his bindings at last, Draco stretched out and yawned wide, showing the bottom row of his pearly whites. Just like a cat waking from a long nap in the sun.

What time was it? He glanced over to the small brown alarm clock on the mahogany beside cabinet to his right. Twenty past six in the evening. It was surely time for supper. His stomach growled gladly in agreement and he turned, his lips parted a fraction, in the direction of the nurse's office, ready to demand nourishment; years of being waited on hand and foot had left Draco used to regular meals, and he had not been fed in what seemed to him like weeks.

The words caught on the tip of his tongue and never left his mouth.

A brown haired female sat in the chair to the left of his bed, and she was beaming at him, all her inhibitions abandoned, obviously glad at the Slytherin prince's return to the world of the living. He assumed it was Pansy at first, she was the only girl he could think of who would keep a vigil at his bedside after visiting hours. But no, it was not Pansy, he discovered, as the girl's features swam into place. They were not anywhere near pug like enough, but then, who-?

Granger. It was Granger, the filthy, vomit-inducing Mudblood, who was present at sickbed. His stomach churned as images of her watching him sleep, a dreamy expression on her face, popped into his mind. Draco's eyes narrowed in disgust as he glared at her, and her joyful expression turned to one of fear and distress. She got up to leave, realizing her presence was less than welcome. Draco was too fast – good, old-fashioned bed rest had restored his quick reactions – and he reached out and grabbed hold of one of her skinny wrists before she had the chance to flee. He made sure his nails dug into her creamy skin, and drew warm, wet blood with his vice like grip. She whimpered. He pulled her close. Their noses almost touched, he could smell her hot, sweet, damp breath on his face-

'What the fuck are you doing here, Granger?' He hissed with contempt as she looked away, her cheeks flushing scarlet out of the embarrassment of being caught. 'Look at me, you stupid whore. What are you doing here? Invading my privacy, watching me sleep? Potter sent you, didn't he? **Look at me, Granger!**' Hermione returned his gaze on his shouted command, which was so similar to that of his father's when he was in a fit of rage that even Draco was taken aback a little, but she was not furious, as he expected her to be. No, tears welled in her eyes as Draco spat out her name like it was a curse word, and a choked sob broke free from her lips. She looked down, not wanting him to be a witness to her crying. '_Look at me_.' He whispered the demand this time, and it was barely audible, but it was still as full of the same amount of hatred as his hoarse bark had been. Not wanting to find out what would happen if she refused to comply, she sniffed and reluctantly looked up through her lashes at Draco. He was staring at her, his eyes blazing like fire, the corner of his thin mouth turned up in a mocking smirk. 'Good girl.' More blood rushed to her already red cheeks. 'Now… I believe you were going to tell me something?'

Hermione coughed awkwardly and broke away from his intense gaze. Using her free hand – the other Draco still had a hold on – she wiped away the smattering of hot tears from the corners of her eyes. Her voice trembling with fright, she began.

'T-truthfully, Draco, I've been here at your side every day you've been in this place.' He frowned at her and opened his mouth, ready to accuse her of spying again. 'No, not on Harry's orders. I haven't spoken to Harry in weeks…' Draco's expression changed, now curious at what the girl had to say.

'Continue.'

'I've been worried sick about you… as pitiful as you may think that is. I have been since – since last month.' She shot him a meaningful look. He nodded stiffly and looked away from her. 'I didn't want any more harm to come to you… or for you to bring any more harm to yourself. I wanted to keep you safe… and truth be told, Draco… yours is the only company I've had for… some time... Ron and Ginny are too – busy – and Harry is wrapped up in his own problems… watching you sleep was… a comforting distraction, you looked so p-peaceful…' She burst into tears.

Malfoy winced; his patience with Hermione was waning. '_Continue, Mudblood_.'

'I've come to c-care about you a great deal; Draco… I don't care what you think. You wanted the truth and… and… that's it. I'm a bumbling fool to admit it, but I love you. And it breaks my heart.' Draco looked down at Hermione, stunned and speechless at the content of her confession. She broke free of his loosened grip on her wrist and turned away from him. Her cries echoed off the high walls of the deserted ward. She looked once more at him. Draco was silent, and was staring, his brows furrowed, at his bed. She gave up, and walked away, still sobbing.

The creaking of mattress spring and the rustling of sheets could never have prepared Hermione for what happened next. Draco, in a rare moment of pity for the girl, leapt out of his bed, legs shaking a little, and bounded after her.

'Granger, wait. Please.'

He caught up with her as she pushed open one of the tall doors of the hospital wing.

'Draco, just leave me alone. I don't want your false sympathy.' Her tone was pleading and insistent.

Malfoy grabbed onto her as she attempted to leave, and pulled her to him. He shut the open door with a slender, bare foot, and pushed her up against it. One of his hands clutched at her wrist and he raised his other arm, pressing his hand against the door. Trapping her. Dominating her. Hermione gasped. The shadow that fell across his face highlighted every curve, every sharp angle, and made him look inhuman. Beautifully so.

'Please. Granger.' He took in a shaky breath. 'I don't understand. I hate you. You hate me with equal passion. That's the way it's always been. How – how can you love me? After what I've done to you?' Draco reached out, awkwardly trying to comfort her. His Malfoy front was slipping, and he didn't give a damn. In a moment of clarity, he saw at long last the great extent of damage he had caused with his cold act.

Hermione flinched and rebuffed him as he tried to touch her cheek. 'Don't touch me, Draco!' She cried. 'Don't you _dare_! Look what you've _reduced me to_. And you don't even care, I know you don't! Why should it bother _you_ that you are the sole reason I cry myself to sleep at night?' Hermione's voice was shrill and cracking. A torrent of tears poured down her cheeks and she was overwhelmed with tremors that shook her to her core. At a loss for words, Draco took Hermione into his arms. She pounded his bare chest with closed fists, but even in his weak state he was too strong for her to overpower him. Hermione gave in and inhaled deeply, smelling his heady, musky scent for the first time. She blamed the intoxicating aroma for her inability to walk away from him, and it seemed perfectly reasonable to her.

'We can't choose who we love, Draco.'

Lost in the moment, Draco pulled away from her. He gazed intently down at her, looking like he wanted to say something but couldn't quite manage to string together a sentence. He leaned in and for a moment Hermione was so sure that he was going to kiss her, she closed her eyes in twisted anticipation. But, when he pressed his cold lips to her forehead she wasn't quite sure how to feel. She opened her eyes, wrinkled her nose and frowned. Draco laughed quietly.

'Don't worry, Hermione. It's all going to be okay.'

Draco's soft, assuring tone startled Hermione. She burst into tears again and flung her arms around him. Not quite sure how to react, he patted her awkwardly on the back, rested his head on top of hers, and returned the embrace, staring into the night.

--

I'm at a loss for words, really. That chapter was so tough to write! Hope you enjoyed it, **please, please review** if you did. Reviews keep authors sane!

Laura


	10. Sinister Decisions

(Draco)

The two of them walked back to Gryffindor tower in silence, the despair of the moment bringing the pair, who would at any other time been poles apart, together. Draco had – albeit reluctantly – placed one of his spindly hands on Hermione's shoulder; his arm snaked around her slim back and guided her forwards, and Hermione had wrapped one of her own arms around his waist and was leaning on him for strength, too drained by their encounter to make the trek from the fourth floor to the seventh on her own. No one but the portraits that were not slumbering and the occasional owl peering down at them from a glassless window would have seen them make their slow way through the eerie, moonlit corridors of the castle, and they saw no-one but the portraits. Even Filch, Mrs Norris and Peeves were nowhere to be seen, and Dumbledore had either finished or not yet begun his nightly walk through the castle.

There were no goodbyes when Draco deposited Hermione off at the entrance to Gryffindor tower. She muttered the password to a rather disgruntled Fat Lady – who was sat in her cushy armchair, wrapped in a dressing gown and swigging enthusiastically from a bottle of elf made wine –, looked somewhat cautiously back at Draco and pulled her lips up into a watery smile that didn't reach her eyes. Draco folded his arms, returned it and looked away. He didn't deal very well with emotional women. Hermione climbed through the portrait hole and it swung to. 'Bloody hell.', Draco muttered as the portrait slammed closed unceremoniously.

He didn't return to the hospital wing, deciding that as he was conscious and felt as well as one could after such an eventful evening, it would be fine for him to discharge himself and return to the Slytherin common room. Before heading there, however, he stopped off at the kitchens for some well deserved dinner, which was provided by a scowling Dobby, who was clad in a lime green woolly hat, several pairs of socks and a brown, anaconda like scarf, which was wound so many times around his little neck he had attained the appearance of a suffocating troll. After eating and drinking his fill of crumpets and tea he tossed the dirty plate at a house elf that was cleaning out a large mixing bowl. She failed to catch it and it hit her on the head, cracking on impact, causing her to shriek and wail like a caterwauling charm.

Draco left the kitchens full and yet somehow still feeling a little empty and melancholy. He slunk down to the cold dungeons, sticking to the shadows so he wouldn't be seen by Snape, who he was still feeling a little wary of, out of bed after curfew. Draco wasn't sure if he could handle the questions that would be asked if he was caught skulking in the dungeons by the hook-nosed man. Cursing him out of impatience and irritation would not put Draco back in his good books.

*

There were not many students lazing around in the Slytherin common room, which was bathed in a serpentine green light, and the majority of them scarpered into their respective dormitories, whispering with agape mouths at the Slytherin poster child's sudden reappearance. Only his most loyal and closest friends were left in the long, low ceilinged room, and upon noticing his return, every one of them – excluding Blaise Zabini – got up from the plush armchairs that were grouped around the fire as if greeting a member of wizarding royalty. Crabbe and Goyle were at the back of the group, grinning at each other like fools and Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode stood closest to him, slavish expressions on their faces. Blaise was the first to speak.

'Well, look who it is. Finally decided we are worthy of your presence, have you?', he drawled. He grinned jovially, still reclining care-freely in his chair, legs crossed and hands together under his chin.

'Sod off, Blaise. I don't want to hear any more of your witty remarks tonight.'

'Now now, Draco, play nice. Stop acting like a bear with a sore head, it doesn't become you.'

'Blaise.' Draco shot the laughing boy a dark, meaningful look and his face fell. He nodded.

'I'm going to bed. Don't wait up for me.' Draco sighed, combed his hand through his hair and ran down the stone steps at the entrance of the room, where Pansy was waiting with her arms crossed. She looked angry, and was staring at Draco, pouting sourly.

'Draco! How can you go to bed without even saying a word to me? I haven't _seen you in weeks_…' – Pansy glanced up at Draco in what she considered to be a seductive manner – 'You look stressed out, Draco… why don't we go up to my room and I'll give you a massage? It'll make you feel better…' She trailed off, and looked at him again, an expectant smile on her puggish face.

Blaise sniggered.

'Blaise, shut your mouth.' Draco pushed Pansy – who was now toying with his belt buckle – away. He responded bitingly to her comment. 'And you, Pansy, come anywhere near me or my room tonight and you'll regret not staying away.'

With that, Draco strode away from the little group and down the stairs to his dormitory, slamming the door behind him.

*

Theodore Nott and a small group of his friends were playing Wizard's Chess by the crackling fireplace.

'All of you, out. Now.'

Nott, who had a great disliking for Malfoy, his family's standing in the wizarding world and his popularity within the Slytherin house, glared at Malfoy and attempted to retaliate.

'I said _now_, Nott.'

With a flourish of Nott's wand the chess set was back in its box.

'Come on, boys. We'll find somewhere better to play.'

The group got up and swaggered past Malfoy. Nott pushed into Malfoy on their way out, jolting him, and in a deep, bitter voice, Malfoy responded.

'You'll regret that, Nott.'

'Oh, please. What are you going to do? Set your Father on me?'

'We'll see.'

The boys left the room, and Draco flung himself down on his bed. He rolled over and picked up the ring emblazoned with the Malfoy crest that his father had bought him for his last birthday from a dish on his bedside table and rolled it around in his fingers in a thoughtful sort of way.

He didn't love Granger. She wasn't his type… intelligent, insufferable, overbearing… too full of a certain joie de vivre. She had grown into her features, yes… but Draco liked his girls submissive and easy. With that dark sort of Black beauty… pale, dark haired, full lipped, with large, heavy lidded, almond shaped eyes… like Bellatrix had been, before Rodolphus and the Dark Lord had wormed their way into her. Like Pansy. Without Pansy's extreme level of devotion and slavishness; that part of her personality irritated him no end. Some of the time he was with her, he felt like lashing out… like showing her how infuriating she really was… but Pansy, who had let him lick Firewhisky off of all sorts of unmentionable places in one of their drunken little sessions, would probably get a kick out of that kind of masochistic behaviour, and he had left that particular fantasy to gather dust at the back of his mind.

There was definitely something about Granger that he found appealing, however. That side of herself she did not allow others to see. Like him, she had built a wall around her to keep others at bay… she had shown that tonight, he pondered. They were kindred spirits in a way, although completely opposite to each other…Was she really as alone, emotional and insecure as she had put across? She loved him; that much was clear… Why exactly, Draco knew not… he was the type to be obsessed over, yes, but loved? No. He was dark, snide, brooding… violent to his partners. Perhaps she had warmed to the part of him that existed in the fortress he had built inside of him, which he had, unwillingly, allowed her to bear witness to. Draco found himself warming to that same part of her.

For different reasons.

She needed to be broken, put in her place. He would mould her to fit his type; although it would be a challenge, a challenge was just what he needed. If all went to plan the weak, submissive part of her would become the dominant part, and in turn, the cold, vile, dark part of himself would become dominant… then, and only then, could he bring himself to truly become like his father, and live up to the Malfoy name. Only then could he make his father proud, and join the ranks of the Dark Lord.

Yes, Hermione Granger was _exactly_ what Draco needed.

--

Draco's got something of a dual personality, hasn't he? Hmm... ;)

Hee hee hee! This is finally going where I intended it to. Will Hermione yield? Will Draco be able to change her? Dun dun dun.

**Reviews = love love love. **Special mentions go out to **Pixie** and **Kelren5**, your reviews were so lovely!

Oh, and don't worry, there won't be much/any sadomasochism, don't let that put you off. The plot isn't going to be abandoned for some raunchy, rough sex scenes! ;D

**Visit here, it kind of sums up how I feel about this chapter. http://www(.)lyricsfreak(.)com/m/michael+jackson/give+in+to+me_20092661(.)html You'll have to take out the brackets in the link.  
**

Laura


	11. Voices and Bitter Kisses

(Hermione)

Hermione's breath spiralled out of her nostrils and mouth in smoky tendrils, condensing as it hit the Scottish winter air; it hung about her head in small clouds before swirling off into nothingness, dancing through the heavens along with the gusts of wind that hurtled over the top of the astronomy tower. The same brisk draft snapped at her cheeks and nose, turning them a rosy red. Hermione considered leaving, but the silence she so craved could not be found anywhere else in the castle. She brought a gloved hand up to her face and shivered at the cold that radiated from it; to try and warm up a little she pulled her gold and red scarf up over her nose and brought her wand out from the depths of her cloak, muttering 'Inflomora!' as she did so. Small flames burst forth from the tip of the wand, flickering and crackling in front of her face. She breathed a sigh of relief as warmth crept back into her bones. Finally content that none of her body parts would succumb to frostbite, she lent against the brass railing on the tower's battlements and allowed her eyes to wander, drinking in the beautiful scenery below her.

The crisp morning seemed to magnify the beauty of the loch and mountains that surrounded Hogwarts, and rendered them truly breathtaking. So clear and picturesque was the view that it was almost surreal; in Hermione's mind, things like that simply did not exist. The sky was overcast, but the grey loch sparkled as light refracted off of it, and shimmered as if it were glass. Some sort of giant bird of prey skimmed the water as Hermione looked on, seeking out its breakfast. It caught something and crying in triumph glided back to its nest in the mountains, which were bleak, although they did have a kind of majesty to them that was rarely found in anything crafted by wizards. Acres upon acres of noble fir trees that covered them swayed en masse, clinging to the ground for dear life as Mother Nature tried to tear their roots from the soil. In the more barren, rocky areas Hermione could make out the fuzzy white specks of what could only be sheep. They huddled together for warmth, like the trees, and she could imagine them grazing in tight-knit little clusters, trying to keep their energy levels up in order to survive the winter.

The panoramic views – and of course, the hallowed peace and quiet – were why Hermione had made a habit of visiting the astronomy tower before breakfast on a Saturday and Sunday morning. It was lovely to get away from the strenuous hustle and bustle of school life, even if only for an hour, two at the most, and the cold air helped to clear her head after a long. It was all too easy for her to get lost in the noise the trees made when the wind whistled through them, or perhaps in scanning the loch for signs of the giant squid, who made her chuckle – after all her time in the wizarding world, she still found it mind boggling that a tropical creature like a squid could be found in somewhere so chilly and remote as the Scottish Highlands.

Even Draco couldn't wriggle his way into her thoughts when she was absorbed by such time-filling tasks.

Draco.

The intense expression on his face in the moonlight caused a shiver to zoom down Hermione's spine as the mental picture took over her thoughts. Her face, pallid from the cold, buzzed in the places he had touched, and colour and heat rose to her cheeks as she reminisced. Her breathing quickened and her stomach fluttered and flipped as the scene replayed itself in her head, and feeling a little woozy, she gripped the brass rail she had been leaning on moments before. The recollection hurtled like a steam train, hulking and unstoppable, towards the point where he had placed his hands, firm and controlling, on her shaking shoulders, and looked at her, eyes flashing like jewels… Sweeter than Heaven and far darker than Hell… She closed her eyes and let out a hitched little gasp - so realistic was the memory that she could almost feel his fingers slide, ever so slowly, onto her shoulder again, sense his hand gripping her cloak – too realistic, far too realistic… It could not possibly be a memory – Hermione grew anxious, her heart pounded franticly in her heaving chest, threatening to burst out. She spun around, eyes still shut, and her thick cloak swirled in time with her. Could it be Harry? She had told only he where she would be, in case he needed to see her–

*

(Draco)

Hermione twirled around; finally realizing his hand was on her shoulder. She looked as if she was in some kind of trance - her eyes were closed, their long blonde lashes splayed like a fan across her cheeks. Her thick hair, more curly now than bushy, whipped across her face, and caught the light, revealing a spectrum of blondes, browns ranging from mahogany to beech, and even a streak or two of red here and there. Her Gryffindor scarf dropped from above her nose down to her chin, revealing pink cheeks and lips that were red and buffered by the wind. Draco had to admit that although she had many shortcomings, Granger did look extraordinarily beautiful with that dazed and confused look on her face. It was almost angelic; an expression that one would only expect to see in a painting from a time almost forgotten. His body began to respond accordingly.

_Now, Draco, don't get carried away. Remember why you are here._ His father's voice snapped inside his head, and brought him back down to Earth with a crash.

Her eyes opened, and her face took on a shocked, confused sort of look. At a stretch, he could have said she was worried.

_Yes, that's right. She should be._ The same voice resonated inside his head, chuckling.

Taking advantage of her unhinged state, Draco's free hand slipped expertly to her waist and slowly, in his most sensual manner, he bent down to her level and turned his head so his mouth was next to her ear. He let out a deliberate breath. It tickled her neck and jaw line, and he chuckled slowly with mirth as the hairs at the nape of her pretty little neck stood on end. He whispered in her ear, his words sweetened by the honey toast he had eaten at breakfast.

'_Hello, Hermione._'

She gasped, the noise audible to him only, and opened her eyes cautiously.

'D-Draco? How did you know I was here? Why are _you_ here, for that matter?' Hermione pulled herself together using that damnable Gryffindor courage. Her tone was steady.

_This one's fierce. Any other girl would have dropped like a fly at that… Or perhaps you're losing your touch…_

Draco laughed spitefully at the voice in his head.

'Oh, I don't know… The famous Malfoy intuition, maybe?' He smirked at her, and looked down into her questioning eyes. She touched her ear subconsciously, and looked away, gulping.

_That's it._

'No, actually, Granger. In all seriousness, I come here a lot… good place to think... good place to do a lot of things…'

Catching the obvious innuendo, Hermione blushed furiously.

_Oh, come on. You can do better than that._

Angered by the voice's belittling tone and intent on proving his worth, Draco grabbed Hermione's face – perhaps a little too roughly, he mused – and crushed it to his. Her mouth formed a comical little O, the perfect pout, and he laughed at the irony as he kissed her hungrily, his breath spilling into her open mouth. She was unresponsive at first, stunned by the sudden contact, but she soon joined in as he became more insistent, surprisingly wanton.

He cocked an eyebrow, not expecting such a response. She pressed closer to him and brought her arms up around his neck as he took a hold of a lock of her hair, twisting it between his fingers with more force than was entirely necessary. She didn't pull away and he took that as a sign to continue. Draco grabbed her neck, suddenly full of unwarranted anger, and dug his nails down into the tender skin. Hermione yelped, but carried on kissing him, moving her little lips against his, mistaking his anger for unbridled passion. He felt the tip of her warm tongue against his lips and before she could slip it into his mouth he bit down hard on her lower lip. She whipped her arms down from his neck and tried to push him away, her eagerness gone now he had inflicted pain upon her, but he now had a strong grip on her both of her arms, so strong in fact that his knuckles were white against his skin.

He didn't stop until he tasted the iron like tang of her blood seep onto his own lips. The bubble of anger retreated as she whimpered and begged him to stop and he released her. She looked up at him, blood on her lips and around the edges of her mouth, her lower lip split and bulging out. Tears filled her eyes as she saw his joyous expression; he couldn't help but smile when he saw the beginnings of what would be a very nasty, black bruise where one of his incisors had pierced her skin. She cracked as monstrous glee washed over his face, and rushed away from him, sobbing.

--

Sorry for the slow update, this week had been a little hectic. Writers block has been running rampant! Hope you enjoyed the chapter, I should have another ready for you by the day after next. Don't be disgusted by the last couple of paragraphs, it's not all going to be so gory! No more clues for you, I'm afraid... ;)

**Review if you love me? c: Or even if you don't?  
**

And **Yew Wand**, I'm still **awaiting that DE invitation**. :o

Laura


	12. Cuts and Bruises

(Hermione)

Hermione clambered through the portrait hole, keeping her head down so she would not have to go through the embaressment of being seen. Most of the students in the common room were indulging in leisurely weekend activities – for Lavender Brown and Ron, this meant kissing the faces off of each other in an alcove in the quietest corner of the teaming room – and were too busy to notice her. Only Harry, who in finding he was without anyone to talk to, had decided to knuckle down and finish up a tricky Defence against the Dark Arts essay Snape had set them the previous Friday, heard the familiar creak of the Fat Lady opening and looked up, curious to the identity of the entering person. Relief washed across his bespectacled face. He put down the goblet of pumpkin juice he had been sipping from.

'Oh, Hermione! I'm glad you're back, the section in this book about the properties of Basilisk is confusing me, could you help?' Sounding hopeful and somewhat exasperated, Harry took off his glasses, breathed on them, and began to clean them on his maroon jumper, a Christmas present from Mrs. Weasley.

'Hello, Harry,' Hermione replied in a weak whisper. 'Do you mind waiting a while? I'm feeling a little under the weather…' She looked up and gave him a pained smile, wincing as the raw cuts on her lip split open a little more, and prayed in desperation to all the Muggle gods she knew of that the distance between them and Harry's poor eyesight would cover up her wounds and her red eyes.

Harry squinted, noticing something about Hermione's face was not quite as it should be, and slid his round glasses back on to his nose. His green eyes widened in shock. Full of concern for his friend, he began to gabble. 'Merlin, Hermione, you look like Hell! What happened? Or – who happened? Are those – _**teeth**_ marks? Did somebody attack you? Was it –? '

Through shaky sobs, Hermione pieced together a coherent sentence. Her voice was strained and thick with emotion. 'It's n-nothing Harry, really. Trust m-me… Get back to your essay. I'll be f-fine; I just need some t-time to myself, some time to th-think things over…' She left the shadows by the portrait hole, her head bowed again to avoid any awkward looks, and broke into a trot, hoping to reach the stairs leading to her dormitory before Harry could reach her and cause a scene. It was not her desire to be the Gryffindor house's gossip for the week.

'Hermione, wait!' Harry shouted after her, pleading and insistent. 'What sort of a mate would I be if I left you on your own in this condition?' Not wanting the attention, Hermione started to run. The Boy-Who-Lived groaned. 'Please! Merlin's beard, Hermione, stop!'

Harry threw down his quill and parchment, tossed the weighty book he was using for reference out of his lap and leapt up from his armchair. It was a cold day, and the coveted spot by the roaring fire was swiftly taken over by an ugly first year in oversized robes and her giggling friend. He glanced back at the pair and tutted, cursing them under his breath. Harry watched Hermione duck and weave through the other students in the room, his eyes darting about as he tried to keep her in his line of sight. Watching her closely, Harry bolted after her, nearly tripping over a group of third year girls swooning over some handsome wizard in a copy of _Witch Weekly_. Hermione's tentative run was no match for Harry's long, athletic strides, and within seconds he had covered the space between the two of them and had a tight hold of her arm. She shivered. Harry's firm grip brought unpleasant thoughts of a _very_ different boy into her head.

'Hermione, who did this to you?! Tell me, please… We can go to Dumbledore and he'll sort them out… And Madame Pomfrey will have an ointment or something for the cuts –'

Hermione turned to Harry, removed his hand from her arm, and looked up at him. He reluctantly returned her gaze, trying desperately not to allow his eyes to drift down to her mouth.

Her eyes dropped to stare fervently at the floor. Sound barely passed Hermione's lips, and before he could think Harry focused his eyes on her bruised and battered mouth to get a grasp on what she was saying. He cringed, baring his teeth and narrowing his eyes. 'Harry, please… I need to be alone. I'll talk to you about it later.' Slowly and awkwardly, she raised her eyes to lock with his and placed a shaky hand on his upper arm, emitting a wordless plea. Knowing a lost cause when he saw one, Harry nodded and ran a hand through his dishevelled hair.

'Promise?'

She returned the nod, looked to her right, and folded her arms. 'I promise, Harry.'

*

Hermione, as it was not in her nature to slam doors when in a sour mood, gently closed the dormitory door behind her and removed her scarf and heavy cloak from her person. Deciding there was little point in maintaining her neat routine of hanging them carefully on the iron hook on the wall she had designated for her things, she tossed the garments to the floor and, wiping tears from her eyes, walked solemnly over to her bed.

She kicked off her shoes and sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress creaking at her weight. Sighing, Hermione pushed her hair back and lay down, bouncing a little. Her hand patted around the bed in search of a pillow, found one, and clutched it to her. She buried her face in it, brought her knees up to her chest and burst into another set of tears.

What _ever_ was going on in Draco's head that had caused him to hurt her so? He was a vindictive and spiteful soul, but she had never heard of him doing such a violent thing to a girl – and Pansy Parkinson had made it very sure that the entire female population of Hogwarts knew _exactly_ what Draco Malfoy did to girls. He'd been so… gentle… with her that night in the Hospital Wing, uncharacteristically so, and she had thought, she had _hoped_, that he had changed… If Hermione had believed such a thing to be possible, she would have said that he had dual personalities… Have I, Hermione thought bitterly, set this side of him off? Or is he merely using me as a tool to release his anger? She touched a finger to her lips, and shuddered.

_I wanted him to kiss me again, and he did…_

And what if he kissed her again, and hurt her further? Could she put herself in such a dangerous position? There was so much rage and anger inside of him… what if he gave her more than a few cuts and bruises? If he _killed_ her? Hermione wanted to save Draco, but what exactly would she be saving him from? If something went wrong, would she be able to handle the consequences, however dire?

No.

He couldn't be saved. And Hermione knew she would be a fool to allow herself to get mixed up with him further.

There was nothing for it. She would have to watch from the sidelines as he turned into a monster.

--

Hope you enjoyed that, everyone! Pretty uneventful chapter, I know, and the last bit wasn't as good as it could have been if I put my mind to it, but, eh... **hoping for 15 reviews for this chapter**, can we do it? :D **-crosses fingers and nods like a loon-**

**Still** no Lucius, Yew, is he busy? :o

**Review review review :)**

Will try to update soon

Laura


	13. We Meet Again

(Draco)

Draco slammed down the letter from his mother onto the table. The cutlery and plates on it shook and rattled, one of the many Greater Sooty Owls owned by the Malfoys that had delivered the letter hooted with displeasure and flew up into the rafters of the Great Hall and a steaming plate of scrambled eggs that had been balancing precariously on the edge of the table top fell into Crabbe's lap. The large boy grunted.

_Dearest Draco_

_Your father and I send our love and hope you are well. From the letters I've received from him I have been able to gather that Azkaban is indeed as terrible as I've heard it is … I have been in correspondence with Severus and he assures me that the Dark Lord has developed a plan to break your father out and will put it into action as soon as you confirm that you have completed your task… Darling, I know you are trying your best – and I expect no less of you – but please, I beg you… hurry… I cannot bear to think of your father in that prison…and The Dark Lord becomes more displeased and violent with every passing day, I am beginning to fear for my safety…_

_Write back as soon as you have news for us _

_Mummy_

He sighed, his stomach sinking. How very like his mother to play the guilt card. 'Hope you are well'… what dragon shit, he scoffed. She didn't give two knuts about his welfare, she merely wanted to save her own skin and get his father out of prison! Draco dug his short nails into the wooden surface under his hands and glanced up at Blaise, a stormy look adorning his sour face. Blaise had leapt at the chance to be the centre of attention whilst Draco was busy sorting through his morning mail, and was finishing off a dirty joke involving a Veela in a bar.

'-And it turned out that he was actually part troll!'

Pansy snorted into her goblet of pumpkin juice and Goyle started to choke on his bacon, red faced and in stitches, and Crabbe, who had not yet mastered a simple cleaning spell, was struggling to remove the egg from his robes with a napkin and perform what looked to be a variation of the Heimlich manoeuvre on his gasping companion at the same time. Blaise bent over, chuckling and gasping for breath, highly amused at the odd scene unfolding before him.

Not feeling quite jovial enough to involve himself in the morning's light-hearted antics, Draco turned around in his seat and scanned the hall, still scowling; hoping to catch sight of something interesting enough to keep his mind occupied for the next half hour. Breakfast time had become a rather tedious affair; he found himself becoming less and less interested in his friends and their childish games. Draco's life was now devoted higher purposes than making idle chat with Pansy and Blaise.

There was nothing much of interest going on, as always. Dumbledore, the crooked-nosed old fool, was still missing from his place at the head table. Snape was flicking through a copy of _Potions Monthly_ and watching him over a cup of coffee. His eyes dropped as he spotted Draco returning his gaze, eyebrows raised. The rest of the Slytherins were prattling away to each other, the Hufflepuffs were acting as kind and amiable as ever – calls of 'Could you pass the marmalade?' and 'Of course!' could be heard from their table, and most of the Ravenclaws were fawning over books or holding intellectual conversations. Everything was as it should be. Why must these people be such bores, Draco guffawed. Even the Gryffindors, who could nearly always be counted on for a steaming vat of fresh gossip, were unusually quiet. This included Granger, who instead of flirting with Weasley and ordering The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-A-Tosser around, was acting very reserved, reading the day's _Prophet_, eating a slice of toast and occasionally sipping from a mug of tea. She looked to her left as he watched her, and shot daggers at Ginger Balls and his girlfriend, who were at present attempting to become one filthy entity.

The Mudblood had been ignoring him since their encounter on top of the Astronomy tower on the previous Saturday and he was determined to find out why. It was typical sodding Granger. Draco rolled his eyes. If he'd shown such an interest in any other girl she would be all over him by now, trailing around after him like a lost dog. Trust her, with her backward Gryffindor ideals of chivalry and male responsibility, to expect him to make the first move. His lips hardened into a thin line. Deciding now would be as good of a time as ever to strike, – she was on her own and Potter was busy making love to that ratty old Potions book of his – Draco withdrew his legs from under the table, made his apologies to his cackling group of friends and rose, full of poise, from his chair and slunk over to her, a glint in his eyes.

He felt Pansy's eyes bore into the back of his head as she watched him saunter over to Granger. He heard her hiss his name more than again and again; eager to know why he was abandoning her for _that_, as he heard her say. He chuckled, chose to blow her off and made up a story in his head for later, when the questions would come – something along the lines of 'I went to comment on how ugly her hair was looking today.' That would satisfy Pansy.

*

He stepped into the empty space opposite Hermione and bent forwards, staring at her intently. Her eyes flicked from left to right and back again, completely absorbed by whatever it was that she was reading. Draco did not care much for the _Daily Prophet_ – they had defamed his family on far too many occasions – but the article that had caught her eye must have been very enthralling. It was several seconds before she noticed him and when she did she paled considerably, dropped the knife she had been holding, brought a buttery hand to her cheek and very nearly fell out of her chair. It was as if she had seen a ghost. That would have been feasible – with his pale complexion, Draco could have passed for one easily enough.

Not wanting to put her in a black mood, he kept the laughter that threatened to burst forth inside of him and drew up a chair.

'So, Granger. We meet again, it seems. How are you?' He drawled, and smirked at her.

Still reeling in shock, Hermione opened and closed her mouth like a gormless fish, not knowing how to respond to his comment. Draco's smirk grew in size, taking pleasure from the fact that he had rendered the girl who had an answer for almost everything wordless. She shook her head and blinked.

She opened her mouth, and not wanting to draw attention, hissed at him in a hushed voice. 'What the _Hell _are you doing here? How could you have the _audacity _to-?'

Draco pressed a long, slender finger to her lips. She winced at the contact.

'Hush, you silly bint. I'll be doing to talking until I deem it appropriate. I wanted to know why you've been ignoring me.'

Hermione swatted his finger away from her mouth, bristling with anger.

'Look at my mouth, you inbred _ferret_! Did you honestly think, after doing _that_ to me, that I'd want _anything _to do with you?'

Draco dropped his gaze to her mouth. A dull half moon of short pink scars spread from one side of her lower lip to another. At the corners of her mouth were small, yellow bruises.

_Ah. _

Although he did not fully recall harming her in such a brutal fashion, Draco deduced that he had been the perpetrator of the injuries. Granger wasn't exactly the most promiscuous of girls, and the likelihood that she had kissed another since him was small. It was a potentially disastrous turn of events for Draco; if she bore too much of a grudge against him he would not be able to follow through with his plan. Not knowing how to – or even really wanting to (from what he could remember he'd been satisfied by the kiss) – apoligise, Draco responded in his usual sarcastic manner.

'You don't like it_ rough _then, do you, Granger?' The smirk, which had retreated momentarily, was back.

Reeling from his comment and lost for words, she slapped him. 'Get _away_ from me, and don't you _dare_ come near me again, you – arrogant – _little_ – _**bastard**_!'

'I'll take that as a _no.'_

She slapped him again.

--

Enjoy the comedy **while you can**... ;D

**Thank you to** **everyone** who reviewed the last chapter, although I have to say that I was **saddened** **a little** at your small numbers... D:

To **everyone **who reads this chapter, if you liked it or not, **please review**! It only takes a **couple of seconds** and **means so, so much** to me c:

Laura


	14. Vulnera Sanatur

(Hermione)

Harry flicked his eyes up from his Charms book, a burning question on the tip of his tongue. He stared steadily at Hermione – who was sat opposite to him, scratching furiously away at a piece of parchment with a grotty brown quill – for a few seconds before frowning, pursing his lips in a very Petunia like manner and lowering his gaze, unsure how to make his inquiry without offending her. Precisely three and a half minutes later Harry stole another glance at Hermione as she brought her right index finger to her mouth and chewed on the nail, deep in thought. He held his breath, not sure whether it would be wise to ask her or not, and as he turned bright red and looked as though he would burst within the next few seconds, Hermione put down her quill and sighed rather dramatically.

'What exactly do you want, Harry?' She demanded impertinently. Hermione locked eyes with him; – he had turned a light shade of purple – highly irritated that he had interrupted her study session. 'Come on, out with it. You're going to pop if you don't.' She laughed, amused at his expression – in his present state, he bore an uncanny resemblance to Snargaluff pod.

Harry let out a long breath, relieved that Hermione had started the conversation for him, and adjusted his glasses.

'Well, Hermione – I – uh…' He scratched the back of his head and brought his brows together, still unsure about how to proceed. 'We never had did have that – talk – that you promised me last Saturday.' Hermione's face fell, and she rolled her eyes out of awkwardness. 'Oh, for Merlin's sake, Hermione!' He whispered, and looked around cautiously, wanting to make sure that no-one was listening in on them. When he was satisfied that nobody was, he began again. 'I know you don't like to talk about your feelings, but I'm worried about you, you've not been really quiet lately, not yourself …'

She cut him off, impatient with his hesitation and the probing nature of his words, and cast him a warning look. 'Harry. We are not having that conversation. Not now, and especially not here. We're in the _library_, and if you hadn't noticed, and the library is _not_ the best place to have a heart to heart!'

'But-'

'No, Harry. No buts. I'm not going to talk to you further about this.' Hermione scowled, and picked up her quill.

'Please?' Harry looked at her eagerly.

Hermione put down her quill again, rolled her eyes and sighed. 'Fine,' she breathed quickly, caving in. 'What do you want to know? Hurry up, before I change my mind.'

Looking at her thankfully, Harry breathed inwards and began with the question he had been desperate to get off his chest for the past few days. 'Was it Malfoy?'

Shocked that Harry could be so insightful, Hermione widened her eyes and gasped. '_What_?'

'Was Malfoy the one that attacked you? Is that why you've been acting so weirdly? He's been really shifty all this year, Voldemort's given him a mission, I just know it! I bet he's told him to find out what I'm up to…'

Breathing freely again, – he had not seen through her after all – Hermione feigned a double take. Wanting to know where Harry was taking the conversation, she played along, and raised an eyebrow. 'Are you insinuating that Draco Malfoy has been trying to get information out of me under You-Know-Who's orders, and that when I wouldn't give it to him, he grew angry and attacked me?'

'Well – yes…' Harry interrupted.

She hit him with her Charms textbook. 'Frankly, Harry, that's _absurd_… you should be worrying about more important things, like getting that memory from Slughorn, for instance, not wasting your time coming up with ridiculous conspiracy theories! It's like you're _obsessed _with Malfoy or – something.'

_Well, that makes two of us. _Hermione blinked and her breath hitched in the back of her throat, more than a little shocked at the turn her thoughts had taken.

'When you put it like that, I guess it does seem a _bit_ far fetched…' Harry bit his lip.

Relieved that Harry was beginning to see sense, Hermione smiled. 'A little more than just a _bit _far fetched, Harry.'

'Yeah, I guess you're right. But, I still think he's up to something, skulking around the castle at night and –.'

Hermione prodded Harry hard in the chest, silencing him. 'Stop, Harry. If you're really worried about what Dra-Malfoy's doing, we can go and talk to Dumbledore about it. Yes?' She looked at him expectantly.

Harry nodded eagerly. 'Yeah, sure. That's a good idea.' He smiled warmly at her, and she returned it and patted his hand. 'Good.' She looked down at her watch habitually, and gasped. 'Look at the time! It's five minutes to eight; we're going to be late for dinner!' Hermione jumped up and gathered together her things. 'Come on!' She snapped her fingers impatiently at Harry, who was staring vacantly at the library entrance.

'Hermione?'

Frustrated by his calm, questioning tone, Hermione snapped. 'What is it _now_, Harry?! Are Malfoy and Snape doing the Tango out there? Because if they aren't, I don't want to know. Now, really, we're going to be _late_!' She tugged at the sleeve of his jumper.

'Not _exactly_, Hermione… Why is Pansy Parkinson banging on the door and shouting?' He inclined his head to the library door.

At that moment, the aforementioned Slytherin burst through the door, looking panicked, teary eyed and flustered. Her cheeks were red and she was clutching her chest and gasping for air; the girl looked as if she had just finished a very long race. The half a dozen or so people left in the library looked up from their books.

'Somebody, come quickly, please! Draco, he's bleeding, Blaise and I found him on the third floor staggering about – quickly!' She panted, and ran out. Madame Pince looked furious. Harry and Hermione exchanged worried looks, grabbed their things and ignoring their better judgment, ran after her.

The two Gryffindors hurriedly followed Pansy and Blaise through a maze of corridors and down a flight of stairs. People and scenery blurred as they rushed past. They skidded into another, narrower corridor, which was vacant bar a thin blonde boy who lay quivering on the floor ahead of them, his robes billowing out around him like a sea of black cotton.

'He's just here, Granger, Potter, help him, please! We don't know any healing spells!' Pansy, who now had tears streaming down her face in earnest, was panting maniacally. She leant on Blaise – who was expressionless and silent – for support. Harry stood frozen behind them, shocked to see his enemy in such a frail condition. Hermione gasped and ran forwards. She knelt down, her hair falling over her face, and drew her wand.

There was little colour left in Draco's face and there was a greasy sheen to his forehead. His eyes were beginning to glaze over and he wore a vacant smile. There was no injury visible. Hermione, who had experience in Muggle first aid, twisted his neck to the side and felt beneath his jaw for a pulse; it was quiet and irregular.

'Oh, no…' she whispered. 'Oh, Merlin…' Wide eyed and shaking, she brought her hand to her cheek.

Hermione forced herself to glance at his arms. She turned as pale as a sheet. 'H-Harry, you need to fetch Madame Pomfrey…' She glanced over her shoulder. He was still stood in the same spot as he had been thirty seconds ago, statuesque. 'Now, Harry! Please!' Her voice cracked. Harry shook himself out of his trance and nodded. He ran out of sight, and Hermione turned round, bracing herself.

Her stomach lurched, and Hermione found herself straining to hold back the vomit. Draco's right arm was bleeding profusely. The left, which she knew bore the Dark Mark, was thankfully as it should be. Draco's blood seeped through the sleeve of his grey jumper, staining it a dark wine red and as Hermione watched on, terrified, it billowed slowly upwards and outwards like ivy. Knowing time was of the essence she ignored the churning feeling coming from her stomach and her great and sudden fear of blood, looked away and drew up his sleeve, which squelched and feebly tried to cling to his arm.

The wound was worryingly deep and stretched from Draco's wrist to a couple inches below the crook of his elbow, straight up the middle of his radial artery. Hermione's mind was blank as winced and brought her wand to it, the tip of the wood staining a similar colour to Draco's jumper, which was now swamped by blood. His breathing was deathly shallow.

'V-Vulnera Sanatur!' Nothing happened. Hermione whimpered and forced herself to calm down. 'Vulnera Sanatur!' The flow of blood began to ease, and Hermione breathed a shallow sigh of relief. 'Vulnera Sanatur!' She cried again, and jabbed the tip of her wand into the still sticky gash. It knit together. 'Vulnera Sanatur!' Hermione incanted, song like, and the cut retreated back into Draco's skin.

Harry burst back into the corridor, followed by Madame Pomfrey, who wore the same expression as Hermione. She dashed over, her skirts swishing around her, bent down beside Hermione and placed a hand on her shoulder.

'Well done, girl… You'd make a wonderful healer… You used Vulnera Sanatur, yes? The healing charm?' Hermione nodded frantically, and the nurse smiled weakly. 'Good girl. I'll take over now. Head up to the hospital wing, I'll get something for you and your friends, for the shock…'

--

**Whew!** -wipes forehead-

What's going to happen next? Aha, **wouldn't you like to know**...

I was absolutely overwhelmed by the response for the last chapter! **22 reviews**!

**Please, please, please review if you enjoyed this chapter as much as the last one**! It took me roughly **four hours** to write... and it will take **you **several **seconds** to **review**... Not much, eh? **And like I said, it means an awful lot to me**. c: I'd like to thank **MissStud, MidnightTheif15 (Wow! 6 reviews in a row!), Purpleeyednekoyoukai and DragonGirl323 **for your **especially lovely** reviews! Mentions in the next chapter for those who review too!

Lots of love

Laura


	15. Hopeless Obsession

(Hermione)

'That's it. Eat it all and quickly, please, you two. I need to tend to young Master Malfoy, and you know what they say – too many house elves in the kitchen spoil the broth!' Harry snickered at the idiom but was quickly silenced by a jab in the ribs from Hermione. 'I can't work well with students crowding up my ward!' The end of Madame Pomfrey's attempt at a chipper speech faded into nothingness as her breath ran out. She folded her arms and glanced over at Draco, who was laid out like meat on a cutting board on one of the dozen or so grey hospital beds in the ward. The dank curtains it possessed were half drawn. As was customary, the bed covers had been pulled up to the level of Draco's chest and the corners of them were tucked under the mattress in a way so neat and crease free that magic must have had its way with them. A sinister looking bottle of blood replenishing potion and an empty glass stood on the nightstand next to the bed.

Hermione followed the woman's line of sight and winced – if Harry's descriptions of the nurse's many potions and tonics were anything to go by Draco would be in for an unpleasant night. She dutifully started to nibble at the oversized slab of chocolate she had been handed as the older woman turned her attention to the two Gryffindors whom she had sat on rickety chairs opposite Draco's bed. She clucked and fussed over the pair and muttered to nobody in particular 'Why is it that at the scene of nearly every serious injury in this castle is Potter or a Weasley?' Harry blushed slightly and wished very hard that he could be in either Blaise or Pansy's place at present; the Slytherin duo had made a quick exit whilst Madame Pomfrey's back was turned, hurriedly consuming their own portions of chocolate as they scarpered – no doubt so they could rush straight back to the Slytherin common room and make their housemates aware of Draco's predicament.

He swallowed the last bite of his chocolate – I wonder why it keeps shock at bay so well, he thought – rubbed his hands together, got up from the chair and tugged on Hermione's arm, eager to get away from the matron's watchful gaze and the hospital wing's ominous atmosphere; being in such close quarters with Malfoy made shivers shoot down his spine. However, Hermione did not reciprocate Harry's desire and was taking her time with her own portion of Honeyduke's finest, staring with a worried expression at Draco as she chewed thoughtfully. Harry coughed into his balled fist; his throat was dry. The noise didn't catch Hermione's attention. He had hoped it would.

'Hermione, can we leave here? I want to go down to the kitchens, I'm starving.' Harry placed a hand on one of his friend's slim shoulders.

She broke free from her trance and, still chewing on her chocolate, looked up at Harry with wide eyes. She swallowed and licked the corners of her chocolaty lips. 'I need to ask Madame Pomfrey about Pepper-Up potions, for the Potions project we're starting next week, but you go ahead… I'll join you later. I expect Ron is wondering where you are...' She slid her eyes back to look at Draco.

'Alright... Don't take too long, okay? I want to spend some time with you.' Harry bent down and hugged Hermione tightly. She returned it stiffly, still feeling a little delicate. Hermione did not bounce back from horrific situations as well as Harry did. He withdrew after a minute or so, smiling warmly. Out of politeness Hermione did the same, and told him what he wanted to hear – although it did not mirror what she really wanted to say.

'That'd be nice, Harry. Thank you.' Hermione's tone was free of emotion; mechanical almost.

He grinned again – Harry was not the best reader of emotions – his eyes full of mirth, turned on the spot and proceeded to stride care freely out of the vaulted room, his heels clattering on the stone floor with each step.

*

An insistent hand on her shoulder shook Hermione vigorously from a dream she could not quite remember back into consciousness. She opened sore eyes, rubbed them like a sleepy child with the back of her floppy hand – the tips of her fingers brushed against the hard mattress her head rested on – and was greeted by the rolling grey contours of a thin duvet. They appeared to be shooting skyward, but no – it was just Hermione's sideway perspective. Still not quite sure where she was, Hermione sat up quickly, groggy with sleep. A rickety chair swayed along with her, its legs threatening to break free of the constraints of their rusty screws. Her sight fled and was replaced as it so often was when she sat up too fast by pulsating patterns of tiny purple diamonds.

'Dear? Are you alright?' A warm, friendly voice enquired worriedly.

A dopey Hermione responded to the woman's query. The words in her head did not quite manage to leave her mouth in their intended form; her motor skills had been impaired by the nap. 'Yes, thank you… could I have a glass of water?' came out as 'Yush, tunk-yooh, coohd-ah haff a grass oph waher?' Exasperated, she tried again with marginally better results. Her words were coherent enough and the woman, now identifiable as Madame Pomfrey, bustled off to find a tap and a glass. She returned after a quick period of awkward waiting for Hermione with a chipped tumbler in her right hand.

'There you go, dear. Drink it up. Headache, is it?'

Hermione's small, square teeth bumped against the glass as she sipped and nodded in one unsuccessful motion. Water dribbled lazily down her chin and a droplet fell to her blouse, marking it with a small, perfect, opaque O. Taking in the water with greedy gulps she nodded again, finished the water off and wiped the snail-trail it had left on her upper lip with her jumper sleeve, sighing gratefully as the drum-beat in her head receded.

'What time is it? How long did I sleep?' She garbled, noticing now that the moon was high in the inky sky.

'It's half-past nine, Miss Granger. You've been asleep for no longer than an hour. I didn't want to wake you, but I doubted that you would want to spend the night on a chair next to Master Malfoy's bed.'

'N-no, of course not. It was nice of you to wake me, and spare me a sore neck.'

'Of course, Miss Granger, it was no trouble.' The conversation thinned. Madame Pomfrey adjusted the watch pinned to her apron and looked away, not quite sure what to say.

'Well, I'll be going, then… Thank you for the drink.' Hermione smiled thinly and she got up to leave. Madame Pomfrey stopped her before she could make it past the bed.

'I shouldn't, but I have to ask a favour of you, Miss Granger. I haven't yet informed young Master Malfoy's head of house of his condition and I really must… Do you mind keeping an eye on him and the other patients for half an hour? I'd ask nobody but you; I hate to leave the ward unattended… However you are, I feel, trustworthy and intelligent enough to leave the task to…' The older woman sighed, wrung her hands and looked at Hermione expectantly.

Of course, Hermione's ego was inflated by Madame Pomfrey's uncharacteristically kind words, but it was the way that her heart leapt at the chance to spend time alone with the quiet Draco she so dearly loved to spend time with that influenced her decision.

'Yes, of course I will,' she yawned. 'Don't take too long though, please… I fear I'll fall asleep if you do.'

The nurse left. Hermione sat back down on her creaking chair and bravely clutched Draco's lifeless hand to her own. She watched him intently for a while, smiling at the peaceful rise and fall of his chest and his serene expression – which was soon shattered by a groan that Hermione took to be caused by the blood replenishing potion doing its work. Anyone but those who had witnessed the incident on the third floor corridor would have wondered why he was taking up a bed in the ward. There were no visible injuries to his person; Madame Pomfrey had done her work well.

He soon woke from his slumber, irate and sullen. The illusion Hermione had been building up was shattered.

'_Granger_? What in the name of Merlin are _you_ doing here? Let me guess. A bushy-haired guardian angel sent to _watch over_ me, I suppose?' He glanced down. 'Let go of my hand.' His tone was biting and forceful.

Hermione blushed; she had been caught red handed. 'I-I'm sorry, Malfoy. I was keeping an eye on your pulse. There's a large vein in the left hand.'

Draco muttered something and rolled onto his side, facing her. He supported himself with his hand against his cheek.

'A likely story.' He smirked. 'You didn't answer my question, Mudblood.'

Hermione shot daggers at him. 'Don't call me that, Malfoy. And if you _must_ know, Madame Pomfrey left to talk to Professor Snape. Attempting to kill yourself incurs consequences, you know.'

'What are you talking about, Granger? Kill myself? I think you've been dreaming.' He chuckled sinisterly.

Furious, Hermione grabbed his right arm.

'I'm talking about _this_, you insolent fool!' She prodded the long, thin, silvery scar snaking up his forearm. 'Don't even try and tell me you don't remember doing that to yourself.'

'You're lively, Granger. Been at the Firewhisky, have you?' Draco muttered. 'Well, there's an explanation for that.'

She opened her mouth, ready to verbally attack him.

'Hush. It doesn't involve the deep, murky depths of depression. There's no need to worry.'

'There is _every _need to worry! I think your brains have been addled by the experience, Malfoy. You're utter talking nonsense.' Hermione took on an authoritative, scalding tone.

'I'm not, Granger. Do you really want to know?'

'Enlighten me.'

'Well,' he began, taunting her.

'Malfoy, I've no time for games. Get on with it.'

'Patience is a virtue, Granger.' Draco raised his eyebrows.

'Would you like me to slap you again?' She warned.

'Keep your hands to yourself. You were avoiding me, and I could think of no other way to melt your icy little heart and get you to come running back to my side.'

Hermione was knocked off of her high horse. Stunned, her voice was lowered to a whisper. 'You thought trying to _kill _yourself was the only way to get back in my good books? An apology would have sufficed-'

'Oh, come on,' Draco sneered. 'I'm a _Malfoy_, Granger. We apologise to no man.'

'It's that kind of arrogance that made me want to keep my distance from you, Malfoy.'

'Keep your distance? Please. You couldn't stay away from me if you _tried_. You're terrible at masking your emotions, Granger. It's obvious you're _obsessed_ with me.'

Hermione's anger boiled over. Fuming, she pulled back her hand, ready to strike hard and true. Before she could, however, Draco grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him. Their noses touched. The contact sent shockwaves through her. She gasped and her eyes rolled up into their sockets.

'Now, now.' Draco breathed headily. 'Violence solves _nothing_.'

Dizzied by the sweet scent of Draco's breath and the lusty glint in his eyes, Hermione nodded slowly. _A rabbit caught in the headlights. Again. _Hermione thought bitterly. How she loathed him.

'You're _obsessed_, Granger.' Hermione's legs weakened. There was nothing but him. 'Aren't you?' Transfixed, Hermione nodded. All restraint and reasoning left her. She was powerless to move.

He tilted his head, chuckled, – more hot, wet, achingly sweet breath spiralled up Hermione's nostrils –locked eyes with her and went in for the kill.

'_As am I with you_.'

Draco crushed her to him.

--

Bahhh! I haven't updated in over a week, I'm so, so sorry everyone! I forgot to say that my family and I were going on holiday D: Well, there was the update, anyway. **My longest yet! Was it worth the wait?** **:D** -nods-

I was absolutely **overwhelmed **by the incredible response for the last update! **I've received over 50 reviews for it and a few other chapters. Can we do the same again? :D Please, please review if you read this chapter! It only takes a second or two!**

As promised, special mentions for those who reviewed the last chapter, will do the same with the next one too!

F4LL3N-1NT0-0BL1V10N, Carrie, Yew Wand, Jamie, Natty, Ellia, ixamxsquee, Sergeant Scarlett (I love you! Your review made my day c:), purpleeyednekoyoukai, SaraSyco, Queen of Lunacy, Alicerosecullen, LukeyLover, hemery, DragonGirl323, AnnaOtaku, Edwardslover09, MissStud (I love you too!), mysteryssister (Thank you SO much for your many reviews! 3), Doni, rosebud23, ..moon.135, MidnightThief15, Scarlet-Passion and LostLoveIsDead!

Group hug!

Will update soon

Laura


	16. What Malfoy Wants, Malfoy Gets

'Wait, stop. Draco, stop. Please.' Hermione feebly tried to pull away from the heated kiss as Draco's hot tongue slipped past her whispering lips and into her unwilling, honey sweet little mouth. Pansy had done similar things on Draco's command in the past and not knowing any better, Draco took her resistance to be the signal to continue and his languid hands tightened their grip on her slim waist. Hermione's heart fluttered and something deep within her ached longingly as his expert thumbs slid from the top of her delicate pelvic bones and down to the top of her conservative black skirt.

Draco's knee ploughed over the hospital coverlet and pushed gently at Hermione's own, stockinged, trembling knees, silently demanding that she should spread them and grant him access to what he desired. Fearful that he would take things further than she was willing to go – and she had passed that point when her panting lover, now hastily unbuttoning his Persian green flannel nightshirt, had initiated the French kiss – if she did not act in an assertive way, and soon, something would happen that she would woefully regret in the morning. Hermione removed her hands from her companion's broad shoulders, which were barely covered by the half unbuttoned night shirt, and ran them down his bare chest. She felt his heart pound under his flushed skin. Draco shivered with anticipation, thinking he knew _exactly _where she was moving her hands to.

He could not have been more wrong. Her hands reached his navel and stopped in their tracks. With all her strength, a shaky Hermione pushed a wanton Draco away and he fell like a dead weight to the mattress. The air in the coverlet fled with a _phff_, a muffled sound not dissimilar to the noise Draco made as his head hit the soft, downy pillow and the air was expelled from his sea grape lungs. His face distorted and fell into an ugly stony expression, seething at being denied his well deserved reward – he had nearly died for the frigid bint, and she would not give to him what many had given freely. Snarling, he sat up slowly, his tense hands trailing behind him, flexing and contracting, ready to grab what was already his.

'Draco,' Hermione repeated, in the tone she normally reserved for Grawp when he crossed over the thin line between right and wrong. 'I'm sorry Draco, but we can't do this. I can't do this. Not tonight, and not with you. It's – it's wrong.' Her wand was in her hand, half raised.

_The silly girl doesn't know what she's saying. Take her, boy. She's playing games, the harlot, she wants you. You know she does. __**Take her!**_

Adrenalin coursing through his pulsing veins, Draco began to follow the barked orders of the voice in his head – which had made a sudden, unexplained reappearance several seconds after he had started to fervently kiss Hermione. He ignored her request, flicked his eyes lazily up to her own, in which tears were starting to prickle at the edges of, grinned, predator like, and snaked his arm around her. Draco wrenched her wand from her and threw it across the room. It clattered on the stone floor.

'I'm afraid,' Draco drawled in a hushed tone, and pressed his lips to hers. Her short, raspy breaths spilled into his open mouth. He withdrew after a second or two. 'That we _can _do this; we _are_ going to do this.'

'No, please, Drac-!' He cupped a hot, sticky hand to her protesting mouth.

'My _dear_, you have no choice in the matter. Now, be a good girl. This will be _much _easier for you if summon up a little sense and _don't_ try to fight me.'

He pushed her down to the bed. Long curly tendrils of her thick hair fanned out on the mattress beneath her head. Hermione stared up at him, her eyes silently pleading with him to release her as he manoeuvred himself onto her, still kneeling, and pinned her to the bed with his hands on her skinny wrists. Salty tears spilled out of her eyes, down past her ears, jaw line and vulnerable swan-neck. Draco removed his right hand from its position as the gaoler of her left wrist. He traced his long index finger along her arm, her thin, cardigan covered arm, along a pretty shoulder and up to her neck, where he caught a tear and looking into her eyes, brought that finger to his mouth.

'Your tears taste positively _divine_, Granger. Make more for me. Make more for your Draco.'

Upon hearing him refer to himself as _her _Draco, Hermione uttered a throaty cry and more tears swelled in her tear ducts, matting her brown lashes.

'Good girl. You're a fast learner. You always have been, haven't you?' He purred, the dark edge still in his voice

Draco lowered his head to her neck and slowly lapped up her tears. After taking in his fill he rose and locked eyes with her. He was no leglimens, but it was easy enough to read her thoughts – the eyes were the windows to the soul, after all.

_**Oh, sweet Merlin, he's going to rape me. Somebody help. Merlin, somebody help me! **_The voice mocked, simpering and feminine.

Draco smirked as the sobbing girl writhed like an eel beneath him as he explored with his hands her slim white legs, blackened by the stockings that clung to them like nylon limpets. She whimpered when he reached her lower thigh and took the folds of her skirt in his hands. Not wanting to waste any more time, he pushed it up hastily. The soft murmur of fabric against fabric made the beast that was his arousal howl in his chest. He slid forward; splaying her legs a little more with his now free hands – Granger continued to plead quietly – and whistled approvingly when the skirt inched up and his prize was revealed to him.

'_French Lingerie_, Granger? Well, that _is _a nice surprise. I didn't know you had it in you, you little _minx_.' Draco grabbed her hair and Hermione winced as he pulled her up by it and dropped her like a doll. 'I assumed that you'd be wearing little white cotton knickers, just like _Mummy _laid out for you on your _first _day of school,' Draco hooked a finger under one of the elasticised ribbons of black fabric that held up her stockings. She wriggled and cried a little harder as his fingers brushed against her cold skin. 'And a suspender belt _too_?' He chuckled and drew lazy figures of eight on the goose-bumped skin of her milky thighs. 'You _spoil_ me, Mudblood.' Without warning Draco ran his hands up her torso, grabbed her quivering breasts and ripped open her shirt. White pearlescent buttons flew in all directions. 'I think it's high time for me to spoil you. _Rotten_.' He smirked and lowered his pyjama bottoms. Hermione screamed, pleaded with him to stop and sobbed all at once.

_My, she has a set of lungs on her, our feisty little Mudblood. It's a wonder that she hasn't woken half the school._

Hermione turned her head to the side, not wanting to look into his eyes as he pulled her underwear down to her ankles. She resigned herself to the fact that what was going to happen was going to happen and halted her struggles.

'That's right, Mudblood. Give in. You know you want it. You're gagging for it, aren't you? You shaved your lady parts _just for me_, didn't you, Granger?'

Struggling to hold back another scream, Hermione nodded. Draco half swooned with lust and brought a hand to her womanhood. He petted it, as he would a cat, and Hermione bucked upwards involuntarily.

'_Yes_, Granger. _Good_ girl.' Draco stroked her cheekbone with his free hand, pulled down his underwear and lowered himself to her. Hermione went limp. He didn't notice her move a little as he prepared to enter her. Her chest swelled as she drew in air.

Neither did he notice the door of the hospital wing creak open.

Neither did he hear hushed voices and footsteps.

Hermione did.

She screamed and cried rape before he could cover her mouth.

Pomfrey and Snape ran over to the entwined pair, both horrified witnesses to the sick event they had barely prevented from happening. They looked at each other, unwilling to accept that what they had seen they had _**truly**_ seen, looked back at the 'lovers' and ran to their bed.

Snape slapped Draco hard as he sat, frozen, staring open mouthed at the raging, bat like man. Spit flew from the boy's mouth as his disgusted head of house wrenched him off of the cowering, sobbing girl he had attempted to rape, now covering her modesty by curling up in a ball on the bed. Madame Pomfrey looked at Draco with the same expression on her face as Snape and stroked Hermione's hair and heaving back. Naked and ashamed, Draco was pulled stumbling from the room by Snape, who hissed condemnations and threats at the boy. He named him foul, despicable. Lower than a cockroach. More of a coward than Lucius, his father, whose voice Draco had heard as he had assaulted Hermione. He would be expelled and Snape would be glad to see the back of him, it was said. The words were barely heard over the pounding of blood rushing through Draco's head.

--

I think it's time this fiction was changed to M, don't you? :D God, that was fun to write. There's something wrong with me, isn't there? ;-;

He's a disgusting little bastard? Isn't he? I bet you're shocked? Appauled? **A little turned on?** Bahaha. ;) Wondering where I'm going to take this next? _Favourite, add to your alert lists and **review if you want to find out!**_

_**Reviews keep me writing at such a high quality, guys! Want me to keep it up? Review review review! :D**_

Special mentions to those who reviewed the last chapter, as always:

F4LL3N-1NT0-0BL1V10N, Kitty, LukeyLover, SnowCharms, MidnightThief15, Hope22, Bananna18, astrotangerines, mysteryssister, rosebud23, Queen of Lunacy, AnnaOtaku, SaraSyco, hemery, TwilightRocks, Doni, CyberDog101, DragonGirl323 and Coloring the Sky

**Review even if you were disgusted by how such dirty things could come from the mind of such a lovely girl. You know you love it. ;)**

**Oh, and nearly forgot to mention, this fic has reached 200 reviews! Wooh! Part-ay! :D Thank you everyone!  
**

Laura


	17. She Needs You, Potter

**This chapter is dedicated to you, Yew Wand, for your indispensable, invaluable advice.  
Thank you from the bottom of my heart, this story would be gathering dust without you!  
**

(Draco)

Snape unlocked the door to his private quarters, dragging Draco – still naked and stumbling like a dazed lamb – behind him, a tight hold on his thin wrist, clutching just below his Mark. All the while the ashamed, mortified, chagrined boy muttered expletives and threats under his breath - directed at Snape, of course. The man's keen hearing – which closed further the gap between him and the common bat – was infamous; he heard Draco but was too far buried in his fury and disgust with the boy to pay any attention to the words coming from his mouth. The pair entered his personal laboratory, where he had previously held Harry for those unsuccessful occlumency lessons. Draco turned away from Snape, placed his head in his hands and rubbed his face up and down against them.

'Sit down,' Snape spat venomously. 'And for Merlin's sake Draco, cover yourself with something. I do _not _want to bear witness to such a disgusting sight as your nether regions, you foul little beast'. Snape caught and threw at Draco an accio'd bed sheet, which landed on his head, giving him the appearance of the common muggle interpretation of a ghost. Whilst Draco struggled to untangle himself from the sheet he was spun around and then pushed down forcefully onto a splintering wooden chair that Snape had summoned from the classroom adjacent to his laboratory. Snape's nails grazed Draco's naked shoulder as he seated him and the younger of the two drew a sharp breath at the sudden, unexpected contact with the chair. His legs and arms flailed comically. At last he managed to yank the sheet off of his person, flustered, panting and dishevelled.

Draco, uncomfortable – to say the least – at being naked in Snape's presence hastily wrapped the starched white sheet around him. When he was modest he looked up hesitantly and awkwardly at his head of house and waited for the man to reprimand him. Snape, arms crossed, stared down at Draco with a sneering, fiery glare that the boy had never before seen on his professor's face; it was one Lucius saved for their House Elves, who he viewed as dirty, stupid, lowly vermin. The low, greenish light of the circular room cast shadows over Snape's face and darkened the lines etched into it, intensifying his sinister expression. Draco – who would have been dead if looks could kill – was truly terrified. He was dizzy and nauseous, his throat was dry and his heart felt as if it would break through his ribcage and fly from his chest if it beat any faster. A solitary bead of sweat formed on his pallid forehead and rolled down his thin nose.

'I would have never thought you had it in you. _Rape_.' Snape drawled, sounding almost pitiful. He seemed reluctant to utter the last word, which he dragged out for effect. It hung in the air like the smell of rancid meat. Draco grimaced. Snape's anger rose at Draco's gesture and his voice did the same. He bent down to Draco's level and looked him in the eye. 'Yes, Draco! _Rape! _By _far _the worst crimea man can commit! Can you even _begin_ to explain to me _why_ you felt the need to violate an innocent, helpless woman in such a fashion?' Every word conveyed complete disgust.

Draco blinked, taken aback. Snape, who loathed Granger with every fibre in his body, had called the girl innocent – and helpless! He opened his mouth, completely lost for words. 'I…' he muttered, his head hung low.

Snape lost control of his anger and without warning slapped Draco hard. His head was driven in an unnatural direction, his neck clicked and spit flew from his mouth. The force of the slap drove Draco backwards and there was enough momentum to send him and his chair crashing to the cold stone floor. His head hit the ground and he felt something in him make a cracking sound. Draco whimpered as dark green static crept into the corners of his eyes and began to spread, covering his vision with a hazy blanket. Draco squeezed them shut, dizzied by the dancing pinpricks before him, fearful that he would vomit. He brought a shaking hand to his forehead, clawed his fingers along his hairline and down the side of his face. Pain radiated through his skull and his bottom lip trembled. Before he could stop himself, Draco let out a small sob. Snape's knees clicked and his robes rustled as he crouched down to hiss in Draco's ear.

'Open your eyes.'

Draco opened them a fraction.

Snape, who was adept at wordless magic, uttered the leglimens spell in his head and allowed himself to become lost in Draco's memories. Draco was only vaguely aware of the sensation of having another inside his mind and did not try to block the Professor from viewing the scenes that flashed by, one after another, inside his head. The scene in the toilets. Hermione's tearful confession in the hospital wing. Lying on his bed, smirking as he rolled a ring around in his fingers, making up his mind about what he was going to do her. Kissing her atop the astronomy tower and watching on as she ran away with a bloodied lip. Being slapped at the breakfast table. Brooding over the situation, and cutting himself to bring her back to his side. Smiling weakly as she tended to his wound, sobbing and shaking. Kissing her again, and being denied his reward. Taking it from her by force.

'You disgust me, Draco Malfoy,' Snape whispered maliciously as he pulled himself out of Draco's memories. 'The Dark Lord places his trust in you, and instead of fulfilling his task you do _this_? You do not deserve the brand on your arm; you do not deserve to serve him. You are a pitiful excuse for a man – even _Potter_ is more of one than you will ever be, Draco! You will return to your dormitory, dress yourself and personally notify Professor Dumbledore of – of your _atrocities_. If he does not expel you, you will serve detention with me every weekday evening until the term is over. Fifty points from Slytherin.' He seized the boy by the shoulder and dragged him to his feet. 'Get out!' He spat, spared Draco – who was now whimpering and crying in earnest – a smouldering glare and shoved him violently out of the laboratory.

*

(Hermione)

Harry stumbled bleary eyed, yawning and in his night clothes through the Gryffindor portrait hole, trying to make as little noise as he could – he did not wish to wake the Fat Lady, who was most certainly _not _good natured when woken from her slumber. His hair looked as though Hedwig had been using it as a nest and his glasses were askew. He turned to his house mistress. She wore a tartan nightgown and slippers and her long salt and pepper hair was pulled into a sloppy bun; she too had evidently been pulled from bed by whatever it was that she needed Harry for. She had sent him a desperate note by owl fifteen minutes previously, instructing him to meet her outside Gryffindor common room as quickly as he could. Harry tapped her cautiously on the shoulder – her chin rested on her chest and she looked like she was about to fall asleep where she stood. Her eyes flew open and she brought a wrinkled hand to her chest, startled.

'Professor?' Harry whispered. 'I got your note… What's wrong? Is somebody hurt? Ron? Hermione?'

'Oh, Potter!' Professor McGonagall muttered in her sharp Scottish brogue, which was a little thick due to the late hour of their encounter. 'Thank goodness you are awake… Madame Pomfrey and I did not know who else to turn to. It's Miss Granger; she is in quite a state… Walk with me, boy, you are needed at the hospital wing.' She paled, and looked very much like a haunted woman.

Harry furrowed his brows and stared at her, puzzled. 'At the hospital wing?' he queried, unsure at the meaning of her statement. 'Professor, I'm sorry, but I'll be of no use to you… You of all pe-' Harry yawned wide. 'Oh, I'm sorry for that. Professor, You of all people should know that healing has never been one of my strong subjects…'

McGonagall stopped walking, tutted impatiently at Harry and looked up at her student, who had also halted his progress down the corridor and was in the middle of another long yawn. 'Don't be dense, Potter… You're not needed for your finesse as a healer! Potter, Miss Granger needs you for your moral support. As I said – although I do not think you were paying attention – she is indeed in quite a state. I will explain when we reach the hospital wing. Now, if you would, please follow me.'

The pair strode briskly and in tense silence through the corridors and down several flights of stairs, the only noises made by the two of them the shuffle of rubber soled slippers and the gentle rustle of fabric. They half ran down the corridor that led to the hospital wing and paused at the door, McGonagall a little out of breath. Her hands shook and she flicked through several facial expressions, deep in thought.

'Master Potter,' she whispered, her tone one that was usually reserved for notifying people of the death of someone close to them, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. 'Master Potter… Master Ma- somebody attempted to rape Miss Granger this evening.'

Harry stared into her crinkling, teary eyes, utterly bemused. The woman's words were like a hard blow to his stomach.

'Raped? But who would do that to Hermione?' He whispered, looking like he was about to cry. Professor McGonagall sighed and shook her head slowly.

'I'm afraid, Potter, that that information is for your friend to divulge, not me. Now, come, boy… She needs you.' She smiled weakly and motioned for him to follow her.

Not wanting to leave Hermione alone any longer he sprinted down the length of the ward and halted, panting, at the end of the bed she lay curled up on, sobbing. Harry placed a hand on the bed's metal footboard and stood frozen, taking in the sorry sight of her. Hermione's robes lay discarded on the floor and someone had taken the liberty to cover her with a large olive green blanket, which she had pulled close to her to comfort herself and to hide her unclothed – bar underwear and laddered stockings – body. Hermione's hair fell over her tearstained face in wet tendrils and stuck to it. Madame Pomfrey gave Harry the same weak smile that McGonagall had, gently rubbed Hermione's heaving back one last time and walked away to join her colleague in her office for a large glass of firewhisky.

Harry shuffled to Hermione's side and sat down, his eyes dead of all emotion. He edged closer to her and reached for her arm. She batted him away at first and he withdrew, hurt by her dismissal, but tried a second time and breathed a sigh of relief when she allowed him to bring her to his person. Harry cradled her, closing his eyes and nestling his head into the crook of her hot, wet neck. Hermione did the same and broke into a very vocal, animalistic set of tears that conveyed the extent of her grief. Harry sobbed once, quietly, tightened his grip around her, stroked her shaking back and made soft shushing, cooing sounds to calm her.

'Come on, Hermione. It's alright, you're with me now. You're safe.' Hermione nodded and sniffled into Harry's shoulder. He pulled her closer to him, and whispered into her ear. 'I'm here for you, okay? If you need me while you're recovering, I'll be there. A shoulder to cry on, a punch bag,' Harry chuckled and Hermione sniffed suspiciously in an attempt to mask her small giggle. 'Or even just someone to vent to.' Harry paused, not sure whether to carry on or not. 'And… If you need me to, Hermione… I can beat up the bastard that did this to you. I can teach him a lesson.' Harry's uncharacteristically harsh words and dark tenor caused Hermione to burst into another torrent of tears and he winced sharply. 'Alright, I won't hurt him… I'll just have a quiet word with him. Yes?' Hermione nodded into Harry's shoulder again.

The two stayed locked in their platonic embrace for twenty five minutes at the least, at which point Harry decided Hermione had calmed down enough to ask her the question that Professor McGonagall had been unable to answer. He pushed her away from him gently, placed both of his hands lightly on her shoulders and looked into her bloodshot eyes. Harry brought a hand to her face to brush away the hair that had plastered itself to her forehead and cheeks when the tears had come, and then smiled at her. She returned it and it made Harry break into an unadulterated grin – it was the first time he had seen her pretty smile reach her eyes in far too long. The moment passed and his face fell a little when he remembered what he now had to do.

'Hermione,' Harry began, in a slow, reassuring voice, his eyes still locked with hers. 'I know that this is going to difficult for you to do, but…'

Hermione, as insightful as ever, pipped Harry to the post. She knew, deep down, that sharing his name with Harry would be the first step on the road recovery. She placed a gentle hand on Harry's left forearm. 'Harry, I know this is going to be hard for _you _to do, but…' Hermione's voice was shaky and cracking a little. The screaming had caused it to wither and become raw. 'Harry, you have to promise me that you won't over-react. That you'll accept what happened; accept who did this to me.'

Harry smiled encouragingly. 'Of course I will, Hermione.'

Relieved to have his confirmation, Hermione took in a breath and prepared herself for whatever would come next. It was likely that Harry would want her to explain to him the full story of her involvement with Draco Malfoy. Her stomach churned as his name entered her thoughts. She broke away from his gaze and stared down at the floor, not wanting to see the pain and anger in Harry's eyes that would surely be present soon. 'It was Malfoy, Harry. Malfoy was the one who tried – who tried to rape me.' Hermione's words were hollow and bitter. She struggled to fight back tears.

Harry did not leap up from the bed and rage as Hermione had envisioned him doing. No, he was silent – there were no tears, there was no sharp intake of breath, no vengeful words. Hermione found herself looking up at him, worried and morbidly curious.

The anguish and fury in his eyes that Hermione had expected was there, but those emotions were not as strong as she had thought they would be. There was mainly a deep, deep sadness, and mingled in with that was another emotion that worried Hermione the most. One that she had seen all too often in his eyes whenever somebody had mentioned Malfoy of late.

Deep thought.

Harry brought a hand to the back of Hermione's head, touched noses with her and sighed. They shared a tender, grieving moment together and then he softly bid her goodnight, laid her down on the bed and walked back to Gryffindor tower alone.

Plotting.

Thoughts bounced around Harry's head as he walked.

'_If you need me to, Hermione… I can beat up the bastard that did this to you. I can teach him a lesson.'_

No matter what he had promised Hermione, Harry knew that Draco Malfoy would get what was coming to him.

And by Merlin, was he going to be the one to deliver it.

--

Quite an eventful chapter, I think! So... **Snape has a thing against rape...** (I'll leave why to your imaginations, I haven't really thought of a reason myself... I just thought it'd be nice if Snape had _one _redeeming quality, you know? Poor Sevvy. D: **Review and tell me why you think he hates it so, I'd like to know what you all think about it!**) **Draco's secret is out, Snape's seen him naked and he may or may not be getting expelled... Hermione may just be a quivering, broken mess... Harry's got all vengeful...**

**Dun _dun_ _dunnn!_** Stay tuned for the next chapter, everyone! :D

**That one was a real beast to write, I've been feeling quite sick over the past few days... I think I've got a mild case of flu or something. ;-; Still, I soldier on, because I know how you all love quick updates. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, if you did, as a token of thanks to me, PLEASE review this chapter. Love it or hate it. Your reviews light up my day and keep me going they really do! c:**

As always, reviewers get special mentions:

x3BrookeElizabeth, SnowCharms, Bananna18, voldyismyfather, purpleeyednekoyoukai (Thank you for your review! It really made me giggle!), Permanent, SaraSyco, Coloring the Sky, EMT official, Queen of Lunacy (Thank you too, you always give the best reviews! c: x), hemery, DragonGirl323, MidnightThief15 (Thank you for the congratulation!), Yew Wand (No love notes from me, no way! Eurch. ;)) I'm home, rosebud23, CyberDog101, mysteryssister, AnnaOtaku

**Thank you everyone! Keep reviewing!**

And bloody hell, I broke 3000 words for a chapter. Personal record! Yay!

Laura


	18. Sleeping Draughts and Confrontations

(Hermione)

Hermione's brain pulled itself from the unmentionable horrors of her tormenting dreams and hurtled her back into consciousness. Her wild eyes snapped open and breathing deeply and raggedly, she wiped her sticky forehead and pushed her thick, knotty hair back. She sat up instinctively – her traitorous mind had relieved her of the images from the nightmare, but still taunted her with the conjured up sounds of heavy breathing and a silky voice whispering dirty things – and, eyes darting like a madwoman checked the ward she was incarcerated in for the phantom attacker whose ghostly hand, she was sure of, had been hovering just above her mouth seconds ago.

Upon realising there was no such attacker – although she rolled over and drowsily checked under the bed just in case she had hidden himself – Hermione, fatigued, dropped her head back to her thin pillow with a muffled _thump_ and tried to make her thundering heart slow down to a pace that did not make her chest feel like the site of a percussion concert. Her sweaty, unclothed legs had somehow worked their way inside her duvet and had twisted it so much that she now found her lower half trapped inside the coverlet. Hermione accepted this, rolled onto her side and brought her knees as close to her chest as she could; that, of course, was not very close.

She tried not to think about the nightmare, and instead counted sheep, attempted to recall the twelve uses of dragon's blood and recited, word for word, the first chapter of _Hogwarts: a History _to herself inside her head. But, as her legs heated up and perspired in their goose down prison that feeling of being utterly trapped and helpless crept back into her bones. She kicked and struggled with the duvet, becoming more frantic and agitated with each passing second, and subsequently, despite her efforts, Hermione found herself thinking of her unmentionable night-terror and the event that had brought it about.

_Is this how every night from now on is going to play out? _Hermione despaired as she struggled still to free her legs. _Will my dreams be a constant reminder of his devilish face, and of his cruel hands upon my skin? _She wailed and cursed herself for her lack of knowledge in the subject of divination – more specifically dream telling (A lesser known branch of fortune telling) – which, at present, seemed to be a serious flaw in her magical education. Hermione's breathing and heart sped up again as she spiralled downwards into even more of a state and after what seemed to be an eternity – although, she knew, the time that had passed was no more than a couple of minutes – her brain gently reminded her of the promise that she had made to herself.

_I will not allow myself to become a floundering mess. He will _never _have such a hold on me. _Her words bounced around her head, distorted and echoing. Hermione was in no fit state to be logical and orderly, and she scrabbled for the suddenly _very _appealing bottle of Dreamless Sleep potion that Madame Pomfrey had thoughtfully left for her on her bedside table. She shuffled into an upright position, grasped onto it and sat it in her lap, stroking the lavender coloured bottle affectionately. Hermione turned it over; the girl was an avid reader of labels. This particular one read:

'_Our patented Dreamless Sleep potion will send the drinker into a heavenly sweet deep sleep. The drinker will awake feeling well rested and refreshed, ready for whatever the day may throw at them. Dreamless Sleep is the perfect aid for restless children, insomniacs and those who suffer from recurring bad dreams. Fill up and drink __**one**__ lidful of the potion for the best night's sleep you will ever have.' _Hermione smiled, comforted by the label's soothing words and flowing font, and lovingly caressed the glass bottle. She brought it to her face and swirled the vial slowly. The potion inside, which was deep purple in colour, twinkled at her.

Hermione frowned and found herself thinking of the muggle book she had read as a child, _Alice's Adventured in Wonderland_, in which the title character finds herself in a strange world populated by anthropomorphic creatures. During her adventures the girl stumbles across an appealing bottle of potion, attached to it a label which reads _drink me_, similar to the one Hermione now held. Curious of what it will do to her, Alice drinks the potion and shrinks, ending up a fraction of her normal size. _Of course_, Hermione pondered, _it is unlikely that drinking the Dreamless Sleep potion will cause me to shrink, although… _The crease in her brow deepened. _It's probably best if I read the label again, just in case I missed anything before._

The label did indeed have more text printed upon it, in a smaller, lighter font than what was written above it. _Well done, Hermione. Missing the small print - how dunderheaded of you._

'_Warning: Dreamless Sleep is an extremely addictive potion. If taken consecutively for more than five nights at a row the drinker will become dependant on it for a good night's sleep, and if taken for two weeks consecutively the potion is known to cause death.'_

Hermione found herself suddenly reluctant to drink the potion, which know weighed down heavily in her cupped hands. _Don't be silly, _her conscience soothed, _you've never been addicted to anything in your entire life. Drink the potion. You're just going to use it once, aren't you? To keep away the bad dreams. _Hermione beamed again and nodded vigorously in answer. She quickly unscrewed the lid, poured herself the recommended dose and knocked it back like a shot of firewhisky.

The tonic's effect was almost instantaneous, and open bottle still in hand, Hermione yawned and fell back to her bed, a contented smile upon her face. The bottle fell to the bed with her and it's contents flowed out of the vial and seeped into the mattress, twinkling rather sinisterly as they did so.

*

Harry stormed into the hospital wing, a timid Ron at his heel – Harry, concerned about Hermione's wellbeing and seeking a second opinion on whether he should follow through with the punishment he had conjured up for Malfoy had told his redheaded best friend all about last night's events. Ron had dismissed Harry's threatening words in his head as soon as they had left his friend's mouth. _That's not Harry talking, _Ron had deduced, _it's just the anger. _Harry had garbled on, describing in detail what he wished to do to Malfoy, and Ron – who had a notoriously short attention span – had cautiously told his companion that it was a brilliant idea and that he should follow through with it as soon as the opportunity arose, just to shut him up. He had then proceeded to insist that he would accompany Harry down to the hospital wing in the morning, to check on Hermione and see if she was up to attending breakfast.

Ron, equally as worried about his former best female friend as Harry – for all his canoodling with Lavender Brown still cared very deeply about Hermione – traipsed to Hermione's bed in the ward. Upon it she sat fully dressed, smiling placidly and brushing her hair, which she had managed to tame into a neat wave. Relieved to see that she was not the emotional wreck Harry had described to him during their late night conversation, the youngest Weasley son forgot all about their non-talking status, beamed at her and went in for an eager hug after Harry. Hermione, who still held a slight grudge against Ron, patted him awkwardly on the back.

'Are you alright, 'Mione?' Ron gushed. 'The slimy git didn't hurt you or anything, did he?' Hermione pulled away from his embrace and wrinkled her nose.

_Ron Weasley,, you thoughtless git, of course he has! He's destroyed me! Mind, body and soul! Destroyed me! _Hermione kept her acrimonious thoughts to herself and instead masked her raging emotions with a friendly smile and shake of the head.

'No, Ronald, Malfoy didn't hurt me. Madame Pomfrey and Snape arrived before he could do anything.' Harry cocked an eyebrow at her, but kept silent.

'Good,' Ron returned. 'Because if the bastard had even laid a finger on you, I swear I would have-.' What exactly Ron would have done to Draco Hermione never found out. She looked on, slightly amused as Harry cupped a desperate hand around his friend's face and hauled him backwards.

'Ron,' Harry warned. ''Mione doesn't want us to hurt Malfoy.'

Ron frowned, confused. 'But mate, I thought you were going to-.'

'Going to what?' Harry lashed. Ron's ears turned bright pink. 'Shut up!' Harry mouthed as Hermione giggled and bid Madame Pomfrey a good morning. Ron scratched the back of his head and laughed awkwardly, as did Harry.

Hermione kept her mask on as they strolled down to breakfast. Pain washing through her with every step.

*

(Draco)

'Here comes the twat now. Look at him, strutting about the castle like he's done nothing wrong. And he's _looking at you_, Hermione! How dare he!' Draco raised his eyebrows at Potter as he hissed Draco's movements and actions to Granger, who was cautiously spooning porridge into her pouty little mouth, which he could not help but stare at. Something deep in the pit of his stomach ached and the monster in his chest growled possessively as he recalled the texture of her lips beneath his probing fingers. 'Yeah, 'Mione, he's staring at you like a piece of meat!' Weasley added. Draco, who had not realized that he had been gazing at the mudblood as his thoughts wandered, quickly rearranged his face into a composed expression. Not wanting to miss the chance to aggravate Potter and his sidekick, Draco stopped a little after their spot at the Gryffindor table and spun on his heel to face the trio.

'Got something to say have we, Potter? _Weaslebee_?' Draco drawled in a smooth tone and inclined his head to the scowling redhead, who blushed furiously. The Slytherin Prince chuckled.

Hermione glanced up timidly and lowered her gaze when Draco made eye contact with her. He smirked.

_Well, your plan is certainly working. She won't even look at you! Congratulations, son. _His Father's voice was back. Pride swelled in Draco's chest.

Another voice joined in the chorus. It was Snape's monotonous drone – the voice of reason. _Draco, do not forget about our conversation. Heed my warning. Touch the girl and you will be at the Dark Lord's displeasure. _Draco's stomach sunk at the mention of his master and he rolled his eyes out of the embarrassment at being reprimanded.

Harry and Ron stood simultaneously, tempers rising as they took in Draco's jeering words. 'Yeah, I have got something to say, _Malfoy_.' Potter sneered. 'I know what you did to Hermione, and you're going to pay for it. Here and now, if you don't back off.' Harry's voice rose to a shout. He whipped out his wand from within his sleeve. Draco glanced around nervously; by now all in close proximity were staring with curiosity at the four students.

'What do you think Malfoy has done to Hermione, Parvati?' He heard a dark haired Indian girl whisper behind her hands to her twin. Draco whipped his head their way and glowered at the pair, who promptly looked down and returned to their breakfast and shared copy of _Witch Weekly_.

'You're _threatening _me, Potter?' Draco scoffed, and laughed loud enough for Harry and Ron to hear. 'Potter, you don't have it _in you _to attack me!' Laughter spattered his words.

'Want a bet, Malfoy? Ten galleons we'll castrate you if you don't _slither back to your hole_.' Weasley spat.

'You're on, Weasley!' Draco chortled, and drew his own wand. There were now three clutched in their owners' hands, ready to do battle.

'All of you, stop! Please, Harry, Ron, stop this!' A sudden shrieking imploration came from Hermione. She threw down her porridge covered spoon and stood too, then sent the pair a pleading look, and tentatively did so with Draco as well.

Harry turned to face his panicking female friend and lost control. 'No, Hermione! I will _not stand down_! Malfoy fucking _raped _you! You should _want me to do this_!' He boomed. His words echoed around the hall, and the breakfasting students fell silent. There was a collective gasp from the lot of them, including several teachers. Pomona Sprout had turned as green as the plants she tended to and Snape was fuming. He banged down an empty coffee cup, left his position at the head table, accompanied by a distressed Minerva McGonagall who had abandoned her kippers, and began to stride, his face stony, to the four students, one of whom had burst into tears. Ron wrapped a protective arm around Hermione, who sobbed uncontrollably into his shoulder.

'Mate, you're frightening Hermione,' Ron cautioned Harry. 'I think you're taking this a bit far. Stop, before you do something you'll regret.'

'I had to admit it, Potter, but Weaslebee is right. You're off your rocker.' Draco pitched in, sounding somewhat frightened. He had not seen Harry lose his temper to such an extent before.

_See, Draco? This is where picking fights with Potter gets you to, you foolish boy! _Snape's voice inside Draco's head warned.

'_Don't you dare talk to me, Malfoy!_' Harry roared, panting, his glasses askew. He drew his wand arm back above his shoulder and snarled. '_Sect-!'_

'Potter! No!' McGonagall and Snape's frightened voices implored as they arrived at the scene of the confrontation.

'Harry, stop! Please!' Hermione begged, leaving Ron's side and tugging at his robes. She shrunk away from Harry, who sneered at her.

'Why?! Tell me, Hermione, why should I stop?! Why shouldn't Malfoy get what he fucking deserves?!' Harry thundered.

'Harry,' Hermione whimpered and reached forward to clutch at her maddened friend's sweat drenched robes. 'Harry, if you do this, you'll be no better than Voldemort!'

Harry flinched slightly but did not lower his wand. 'I don't give a _damn_, Hermione! _He raped you_!' Screamed Harry, a wild look in his green eyes.

Draco began to back away from Harry, fearful for his life.

'Potter, I must insist, stop this at once!' Snape and McGonagall chimed in unison.

'No!' Harry roared again. 'Sectum-!'

'Harry, Please!' Hermione begged and clawed at Harry's robes again. 'Please, Harry! I-!' She scrambled desperately for something to say. 'Harry, I _love him_!'

Shock registered on both Ron and Draco's faces as they watched Harry, who was too delirious with his own rage to hear Hermione's confession. He drew his wand ever higher.

'_SECTUMSEMPRA!'_

--

-cackles- What a cliffhanger! What an eventful chapter!

**Is an addiction to sleeping potions around the corner for Hermione? Have her and Ron reconciled? Has Harry truly gone mad? How will everyone react to her confession? Is Snape going to save the day yet again?** Stick around to find out!

**_Please review this chapter, I've done a great deal to get the chance to write it. I'm so sorry I didn't update sooner, there have been some personal problems in my household and I'm writing this in the dead of night. Three hours on the edge of my seat! Argh! ;-; To show how much you appreciate my all consuming desire to write this for you, please review! Reviews feed the muse!_**

Mentions, of course, to those who reviewed the last chapter (23 of you!!):

xX-PeaceLoveWar-Xx, MissStud, MidnightThief15, Kitty, I'm home, dancereadwritesing96, mysteryssister, AnnaOtaku, laurelad12, catherine smith, brilliant, hemery, Liv, Evans17, SnowCharms, Queen of Lunacy, AkatsukiWings, tucket, CyberDog101, rosebud23, Doni, DragonGirl323 and LoreLore! Thank you everyone!

And also, yay! 250 review benchmark! Keep up the good work all!

Laura


	19. Apologies

(Hermione)

Often in films or books when a character is in mortal peril it is said that the grains of sand in the great hourglass of time slow down to a trickle and that because of this, the main character of the book or film sees everything in horrendously clear slow motion. Hermione had always scoffed and rolled her eyes when she had read the phrase in a book; she thought it to be an utter cliché; it was something, in her opinion, that muggle film makers and authors used for dramatic effect. A phenomenon that was most certainly based in fantasy, not in fact.

It was ironic, then, that for no more than thirty or forty seconds after Harry had roared the spell 'for enemies' that he had found in the Half-Blood Prince's Potions book, everything that Hermione Granger bore witness to took three or even four times longer to take place than it would have at any other time of year. She watched on, petrified and powerless to do anything but gawp and stare as several silver, crackling beams of light, which took the form of glittering swords, burst forth from Harry's wand and sliced through the air. They sped towards Harry's target and the object of his rage: one Draco Malfoy.

Hermione clenched her eyes shut, screamed gutturally and fisted her hands, maddened by her lack of control over the situation. Eyes flickering wildly she twisted her head to and fro from Harry and Draco; the former's features were contorted into an expression which conveyed his feelings of hate, anguish and chagrin. He grunted and his wand arm fell downwards, following through the spell he had just cast, turned his head in the direction of a deep, slow, nasally shout – 'Potter! No!' – and roared as his wand was knocked out of his sweaty grasp by a lunging Professor Snape. The broad man – who was, tragically, too late to send Harry's spell off on a different tangent – knocked the younger male to the floor to prevent him doing any further damage, slapped him and pinned him down by the shoulders. He spat out furious curses and threats at the maddened boy as he lashed out and writhed beneath him.

Draco, meanwhile, had neglected to cast a counter curse and was staggering backwards, bewildered, in an attempt to escape the light-swords that hurtled ever closer to him. He whimpered, sobbed and waved his arms about in a morbidly comical fashion to keep himself from toppling over; his leg muscles had chosen moments before to turn to the consistency of strawberry jelly and ergo, his shaky backward steps were not really going to take him anywhere but the floor.

It was at that moment in time that Hermione's taste of slow motion vision came to an end; coincidently it was the very same moment that she abandoned all rational thought and – forgetting she was a witch with the powers to deflect the curse without endangering herself – sprinted forwards and dived into Draco's flailing arms, her objective not to give him a loving hug, but to knock him to the floor and out of the path of the spectral daggers that were milliseconds away from cutting the blonde boy to ribbons. A fleeting logical thought did waltz into her scrambled mind and it told her that what she was doing was madness; she would surely absorb the brunt of the curse herself; she had made the decision to save Draco far too late to _actually _save him by pushing him to the great hall's stone tiles. She ignored it and continued to steam towards him.

Out of the buzzing chorus of frightened voices Hermione's ears made out the words of Professor McGonagall. 'Oh, goodness! Miss Granger, what are you doing? For Merlin's sake girl, get back here, you'll be killed!' Hermione did not heed the woman's advice and carried on, determined to get Draco out of harm's way.

That one logical thought and Professor McGonagall were half right – Hermione did succeed in knocking Draco to the floor, however, regrettably, she did _indeed _absorb the brunt of the curse and the light-swords passed into and through her falling body, leaving several deep gashes in their wake, although they were not lethal as McGonagall had predicted them to be. Hermione's eyes widened and her breath hitched in her throat as acute, searing pain washed over her. The pain became more and more heightened and Hermione wailed like a wounded animal and became rigid; in the commotion Malfoy failed to notice that she was injured. He lay beneath her, somewhat concussed, shaking, panting and not really sure _why _he and the Gryffindor were embracing on the floor of the great hall, still completely unaware that his saviour was bleeding profusely from long wounds marring her neck, chest, back and stomach.

'Bloody Merlin, Granger! Get off me!' Draco stuttered, unnerved by the close contact, and attempted to shift her dead weight with weak arms. 'Granger, I can understand if you _like_ being in this rather compromising position, but I must insist that you unhand me this instant!' Becoming somewhat peeved, Draco shifted his gaze to her to see why exactly she had not moved and brought a hand to her shoulder to try and shake her off him. 'Granger!?' Draco hissed, and then removed his cold paw from her shoulder. He reeled when it came back bloodied and he gulped. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat.

'Oh, shit.' Draco muttered. 'Oh, shit.' He repeated, a little louder this time. 'Professor Snape?'

'Yes?' Came the answering voice of Snape, slightly strained and breathy – Harry continued to struggle, as if he were possessed, beneath him.

'Professor,' the Slytherin boy replied in a tone that did not befit the graveness of the situation. 'Professor, would you fetch a healer? It's the Mud- it's Granger, _Potter's_' – he spat out Harry's name as if it were something filthy – 'curse has wounded her.'

*

(Draco)

'Master Malfoy? I'm going to have to insist that you leave. You're causing Miss Granger's other guests to become somewhat…' Poppy Pomfrey inclined her head towards Harry, who was at present being restrained at the entrance to the hospital wing by Professor Dumbledore. The elderly man had magicked a straitjacket onto Harry and stood watching him with a displeased and somewhat surprised expression on his aged face as the boy writhed and jerked about in an attempt to remove himself from the restricting garment. 'Well, you can see, I assume, why it would be wise for you to leave, Master Malfoy. If you wish, you may return later.'

'Of course, Madame Pomfrey. I will return at the end of the day.' Draco replied, spared Hermione – who was unconscious and swathed in bandages – an apologetic glance and nodded curtly to Ron and Ginny, who were sat on the opposite side of Hermione's bed. They were livid at his presence in Hermione's party of visitors but after several minutes of heated argument (Ron's main reason that Draco should leave was, of course, that he had attempted to rape Hermione) had accepted that he was not going to budge from his spot at her side, and watched him hold his head in his hands and sob quietly with a curious sort of interest; neither of them had seen Draco display any sort emotion before, and Ron had said in a past Malfoy-bashing session that he was, in less eloquent words, 'A devious rat unable to shed a single tear over anything.' Replace devious and rat with the curse words of your choice.

Draco strode away from the solemn little party, boots clacking quietly as he went, and past Dumbledore. He halted at Harry's bubble prison and stared at him distastefully, his hands held behind his back. Upon noticing Draco's closeness Harry had halted his wild twisting and fixed his fiery gaze on Draco. For a moment he was completely still and quiet, but when Draco raised a blonde eye brow in a sort of challenge he opened his mouth and screamed hoarse, almost silent – his voice had begun to give out from all the shouting he had done in the great hall and on the way up to the hospital wing – torrents of abuse – 'I'll fucking kill you for what you've done to Hermione, Malfoy, you greasy snake!' etcetera. If not for the protective bubble Dumbledore had cast to keep all in the ward safe from Harry, he would surely have done all in his power to bring Draco to some harm.

Draco lowered his gaze to the floor and coughed quietly, trying his best to ignore Harry's ravings whilst he measured his words. He then made eye contact with Harry and gave the maddened Gryffindor that rarest of gifts: an apology.

'Potter,' Draco began, trying to keep his voice as level as he could. 'I've had some time to think, and, well, I'd like to apologise for my… uncouth actions over the past few days. I can't say that I particularly regret doing any of it, but it is evident that I've upset you. So… I'm sorry, I suppose.' Harry had been stunned into silence by the words that had left Draco's lips. His brows were furrowed. Draco watched him blankly, evidently waiting for him to say something, but all the other boy did was stare at him with deep intensity.

'Well, I'll be going now.' Draco murmured, unsettled by Harry's profound gaze. He turned to exit and was greeted by a beaming Albus Dumbledore whose blue eyes were twinkling with mirth.

'What do you want, old man?' Draco spat, getting defensive.

'Nothing, nothing.' Dumbledore said softly and knowingly.

Draco shot him a withering glance and stalked out of the ward.

*

(Hermione)

Mere seconds after Hermione had regained consciousness Madame Pomfrey had bustled over to her holding a tray laden with food and a dose of pain relief tonic. The latter the matron had forced down Hermione's throat and the former she had left on her bedside table and instructed her to eat whatever took her fancy. No more than half an hour later, when Hermione had consumed a bowl of droopy salad, a plateful of steamed vegetables and was now picking her way through a sorry looking portion of cherry pie, Draco skulked into the ward looking rather dejected and as sorry for himself as Hermione's dessert. She was so engrossed in the pudding that she did not notice him until he was at the foot of her bed, greeting her sullenly in his silky drawl.

'Good evening, Granger.'

Hermione jumped upon hearing the silky voice and scrambled backwards as far as the bed would allow; hitting her head on the metal headboard of the bed was her reward for desiring to put space between Draco and herself. Hermione's bowl of pie fell from her lap as she scrabbled and it toppled onto the floor where the china shattered and the contents of the bowl skidded across the tiles, lining them with pastry and slimy pink conserve.

'Oh, bugger,' Hermione cursed. 'That pie wasn't half bad.'

Draco looked down at her with mild interest as she tutted and fussed over the mess she had made and drew her wand, muttering 'Scourgify!' and then 'Reparo!' as she went. The fragments of the china bowl sprung up from the floor and back together and the pastry and pie filling were swept from the tiles and into nothingness. The repaired bowl then spun back up onto the tray on Hermione's bedside table.

When she was satisfied that the mess had been cleared up Hermione looked up at Draco hesitantly. Hermione's antics had lifted his mood somewhat and a small smile played across his thin lips. She scowled at his joviality.

'What have you come here for, Malfoy? To gloat, I assume?' Hermione looked up at him, challenging him to answer her question, which she intended to be rhetorical.

'Oh, but of course I have.' Draco rolled his eyes. 'In all seriousness, Gra- Hermione, I've done some thinking, and well, I've come here to ask for your forgiveness for what I've done to you.'

Hermione furrowed her brows and motioned for him to sit down in the chair Ginny had occupied earlier. 'Sit.' She murmured, somewhat humbled by his request.

Draco looked at the solitary carrot Hermione had neglected to eat, far too embarrassed to look her in the eyes. For a moment or two Hermione studied him. 'May I ask what has brought this on, Malfoy? You've never been one to apologise for anything.'

The only indication that Draco was paying any attention to what Hermione was saying was the crease in his brows and the pursing of his lips; he continued to examine the carrot with disturbing fervour. 'Hermione… This morning… You… You put yourself at risk to save me. You saved me, after all that I've done to you…' He whispered, and sought out her gaze.

Still as stiff as a steel rod, Hermione spoke. 'I did not realize we were on first name terms, _Draco_.' She looked at her hands in her lap, unwilling to make eye contact.

Draco turned to her, squirming. Her cold rebuff had left him shaken and apparently on the verge of tears. 'Please, Hermione… Forgive me; I've been acting like a _prize_ cunt towards you. I've hurt you, and for that I am… Eternally sorry.' He struggled to get the last two words out.

Hermione snapped. 'No, Malfoy. I cannot forgive you. You have…' She choked on her words and began to cry. Quivering, she carried on in a weak voice. 'You have… No idea what you've done to me. No idea.'

In an uncharacteristic, comforting gesture, Draco reached out and took a hold of one of Hermione's hands. She tried to yank it away as if burned. Draco looked at her, hurt, and she relaxed into his grip.

'Hermione, I know I can't understand what you're going through…'

She cut him off. 'Of course you can't. You're a fool. A sadistic fool.'

Draco wailed bitterly. 'No, you don't _understand_… I'm no sadist...' Draco released her hand from his grip and drew away from her a little. He looked down at the floor and began to cry. 'N-nobody understands… What I've gone through thi- this year. What I've done! Oh sweet _Merlin_, what I've done. What he's made me _do_, Hermione… What he's- he's done to me… He's maddened me… I h-hear voices… They make me do evil things, Hermione… They…' Draco looked up at Hermione, stricken. Her eyes were teary and full of empathy. Again he took her hand.

'Hermione, they made me hurt y-you.' She gasped and pulled away from him. The panic and desperation in Draco's voice rose. 'Please, you h-have to understand! What I did to you I _did not_ do of my own accord! Please… Hermione, let me make- let me make it up to you. L-let me p-put things right.'

Hermione looked him in the eyes and for a moment seemed to consider his proposal, but then heaved a weary sigh and looked away. She removed his hand from hers. 'I'm sorry, Draco, but… I can't do that. I can't forgive you.'

Draco got up from his chair and fell to his knees, crying uncontrollably into her duvet which he held clumps of between his fingers. Hermione pushed him off of her and he fell backwards, hitting his head on the chair he had occupied minutes ago. He sat on the floor, head resting on the seat of the chair, still crying. His lips curled downwards and his eyes were scrunched shut.

'Draco, please leave.' Hermione whispered.

--

First of all, let me apologise for my horrendously slow update. ;-; I was too ill to write, then I had writers block (Please, never stay up until 5:30am trying to write FanFiction ._.), then I finally had most of the chapter done and my Mother came down and sent me to bed. Argh. Also, I'm sorry for the weird update time, I'm not actually supposed to be on the PC, and well, Mum is out of the house... Only time I'm gonna be able to upload today... I promise I'll update quicker in the future! Anyway, I digress, on to the chapter summary.

**So. Hermione took a bullet (Well, sword(s)?) for Draco... Harry really _has _gone crazy... Draco let himself cry in front of the Weasleys (Uh-oh!)... On top of that he's got all apologetic and simpering... Some truths have come to light... Hermione's being, well, Hermione (See grudges against Ron... I think there's at least one in each of the original books??)...**

_Sorry if you thought Draco was a little OOC in that chapter, but meh, had to be done... He's gotta have a weak side. ;-;_**  
**

**Poor Draco, huh? Oh dear. :/ What do you all think of Hermione's reaction to him? Justified or perhaps a little cruel? What do you think is gonna happen next? Tell me in a review!!  
**

**_Please review if you enjoyed the chapter. Or, well, even if you didn't... I think a chapter dedication will be in order for the 310th reviewer (Odd milestone, I know, but, eh... Anything to get reviews :D) Thank you so much to the 26 people who reviewed the last chapter! That was the second highest number of reviews I've received for a chapter, I think, and the lowest number of people have read that one! 1/10 of you left a review! :D_** **Keep up the good work!**

Mentions, as is usual, for those who reviewed the last chapter:

.ebonite (I think you're new? Welcome to the fold! :3), Hope22, speak200, F4LL3N-1NT0-0BL1V10N, .xXx, SnowCharms, Doni, x3BrookeElizabeth, Yew Wand (He's proud?! -swells with pride-), hemery, dancereadwritesing96, starlight-x-A-x, voldyismyfather, Queen of Lunacy, Jamie, BellaMarieSwan, PrivateNites, Evans17, BabyDark, rosebud23, LukeyLover, DragonGirl323, MissStud, AnnaOtaku, CyberDog101 and StandUnderMyUmbrella. Too many reviews to copypaste! -crumples-

Will update ASAP, hope you're all keeping well c:

Laura

**P.S. Oh, and, urr, did anyone else notice that there are now only 5000 HP FanFics instead of 411,000???? o.o -doubletake-**

**P.P.S I was in book crossovers... Never mind. ;-;**


	20. Walk With Me

**Chapter dedication goes to LukeyLover, as she was the 310th reviewer.  
She has also agreed to write a playlist of songs for you all to listen to for each chapter, be sure to thank her!  
You can find her playlists in reviews. :)**

(Draco)

'Draco, please leave.' Hermione whispered.

Draco opened his eyes cautiously and looked up at Hermione through his eyelashes, blinking away the fat tears that clung to them. The girl was watching him, obviously irate that he had not yet followed her command and left the ward. There was a little pity in her large brown eyes, but not enough to allow him to stay with her. Not enough to allow him to stay, and perhaps – if he pleaded and cried for long enough – to comfort him. What Draco wanted most at that moment was to talk to someone. Finally talking about everything that had been festering for far too long inside his head had caused Draco to have an epiphany: keeping his thoughts and emotions bottled up was not healthy. Doing so had, in fact, nearly driven him to a nervous breakdown.

But there was no-one he felt he could possibly talk to about such things apart from Hermione. He did not know why he felt that he could talk to her, for up until recently he had felt nothing but animosity for the girl. Perhaps his ever growing obsession with her had made him realize that Hermione had a good nature and a kind heart and would not turn away someone in need – even if that someone had acted less than amiably towards her. That much had been made clear to Draco when she had thrown herself in front of him to protect him from harm earlier that day. There was no-one apart from her, Draco felt, who wouldn't tell him to stiffen up and stop being a snivelling fool if he confided in them. He could not even trust those closest to him, namely Pansy and Blaise, with his problems, for he was wise enough to know that they were friendly towards him only because being the companion of someone with wealth, power and social status benefitted them, not because they merely liked his personality and company. Apart from Hermione, Draco was alone. And coincidently Hermione had just told him to get away from her and stay away.

'Draco,' Hermione said, her tone awkward, and edged a bit closer to the edge of the bed she sat on. 'I'm sorry, Draco... You need to leave. You can't stay here. I don't want you here.'

Hermione's words, like a punch in the stomach, re-confirmed the fact that he was isolated and friendless. Her rejection devastated him. He was alone. Alone. Alone. Alone. That word, that _worst_ of words, bounced around inside his head and mocked him gleefully. Feeling hollow and jilted, Draco scrunched his eyes closed to lock away the tears that had again sprung forth from his tear ducts. He struggled desperately to find some magical words that would make her cave in and allow him to stay and talk, for he did not believe that if he was left to his own devices he would not do something stupid.

'Please...' Draco whispered, feeling the need to fill the void-like silence with something, anything. 'Please let me stay.' He choked.

'Why, Draco? Why should I let you stay?' Hermione murmured compassionately.

'I need...' He choked.

'What do you need, Draco?' She asked, eyeing him somewhat suspiciously.

'I need... someone to talk to...' Draco breathed through heavy sobs and ran a quivering hand through his short shock of blonde hair.

'And you think that someone should be me? What would there be to talk about? We have nothing in common. Nothing. Ergo, Draco, there would be nothing to talk about.' Hermione snapped impatiently.

'Just listen, then... Please.' Draco muttered exasperatedly, for he did not know how to tell her why he needed to talk to her, and did not have the courage to tell her what he needed to talk about. He looked up at Hermione, large, glob like tears still racing down his cheeks, hoping that the expression on his face would convey to her what he could not find the words for, and pushed himself up from the floor and settled onto his knees. 'Please.' He said again, staring into her eyes, seeking out an answer. Her brows were furrowed in thought. Draco tried to take a hold of one of her hands, but she pulled away quickly, as if his touched would burn her.

The pair sat like that for several minutes, Draco on his knees looking up at Hermione, those deep grey eyes pleading, Hermione looking out of the window behind her bed, deep in thought. Then, when Draco was almost on the verge of giving up on her and walking out, she spoke. One solitary word.

'Why?' She whispered pensively.

Flabbergasted, Draco opened his mouth and blinked. The weight of Hermione's question was enormous, and Draco felt that whatever answer he gave would leave a lasting impression on her. And he did not know, for the life of him, what to say. 'Buh…' Was all that came out of his mouth. He pulled himself together. 'I beg your pardon?' He muttered. 'What do you mean, why?' He asked, trying to keep his tone placid.

'I meant what I said, Draco. Why do you want to talk to _me_ so desperately? Surely there is someone you can talk to in your group of friends, or whatever it is they are?' Hermione looked down at him but somehow not _at _him. Her eyes seemed to bore through him, focusing on whatever it was behind him. She looked… hurt.

He listened attentively and then thought about her words, replaying them again and again inside his head. There had been a deeper meaning to her question than she had probably wanted to put across.

_She thinks that you regard her as a lesser species, Draco. _Snape's voice murmured inside his head, bringing light to that deeper meaning. _Can you blame her? All of the derogatory remarks on her bloodline you have made over the years, is that really so surprising? And yet here you are, wanting her forgiveness and asking for a soul-searching conversation. You're confusing her. Have some tact, boy._

Draco waited for his Father's voice to counter what Snape had said, but to Draco's surprise and relief it did not come. Only the echo of Snape's voice and the quiet whispers of his own thoughts were present. He had not realized that he had been sat for a few minutes staring up at Hermione with furrowed brows, and hastily gave her the answer she was so obviously seeking before she could take his uncomfortably intent gaze the wrong way. He took and this time kept hold of her small, cold hands and gave her a tentative smile, heeding Snape's advice of having tact when dealing with her. He desperately wanted to heal the gaping wound he had made; after all, Draco had begun to feel like Hermione was the only person who really felt anything for him. Pansy would not have thrown herself in front of him to shield him from a curse. 'No, Hermione. It's… just you. Please, let me stay.' He murmured and allowed his weak smile to widen a little.

He waited for her reply, anticipating it. Draco had expected those nine little words to heal the wound: make her forgive him and allow him to talk to her, as he so wanted – needed, really – but no. They had the opposite effect to the one that was desired. Draco's face fell and his grip slackened as Hermione's expression contorted into a frown. A tear dribbled out of one of her eyes and she fervently shook her head.

'I'm sorry, Draco. You can't stay.'

'Hermione…' He pleaded.

'No, Draco. I can't have a conversation with you, not now. I need some time to think...'

'Please. Hermione, please. Please let me stay.' Draco choked, tears bubbling behind his eyes and threatening to spill out again. When she shook her head again, apologetically this time, out they came. She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder as he sobbed like a child. Quiet pleases were mingled in with the chokes and sobs. 'Please!' He wailed, his bottom lip sticking out a little.

'You have to go, Draco.' She got up from the bed, grasped his wrist and pulled him up, placing a wary hand on the small of his back as she spun him around and attempted to usher him out of the large room. It was a good thing that there were no other students in the hospital wing – Draco was very unwilling to leave, digging his heels into the stone floor and lashing out feebly when Hermione tried to pull him towards the door. Finally his strength seemed to leave him and he allowed her to accompany him as he shuffled towards the door of the ward, back bent a little, head hanging low. She bid him goodnight and he walked away from her, looking back cautiously at her not once, but twice, smiling feebly at her each time.

*

(Hermione)

'Hermione, Malfoy's looking at you.' Harry said rather angrily, his mouth full of toast and eggs, and inclined his head over his shoulder and towards the Slytherin table. He was still seething about yesterday, it seemed. Dumbledore and McGonagall had dismissed him after Madame Pomfrey assessed his mental state. They had not punished him; they had merely warned him to control his temper in the future. That had surprised Hermione, but had not said anything. Ron, free from Lavender at last – thank Merlin, Harry had said upon hearing the news of their break-up – heard Harry and looked towards the other house's table as well. He shot Malfoy a malicious glare that would not have been amiss on Professor Snape's sallow face. Hermione finished swirling honey into her porridge with her wand, put the instrument down and glanced quickly over to where she knew Draco would be sitting. He was there, and was definitely, as Harry had sad, looking at her, a small smirk on his face, stroking the head of a Greater Sooty Owl which had it's eyes closed and was hooting contentedly.

Hermione did not scowl at him as Harry and Ron were doing, for what he had said to her the previous night had changed the way she thought of him just a little; she no longer saw him as an arrogant, smarmy, spoilt boy. She realized now that Draco Malfoy was a confused, tortured soul, torn between two sides of a violent war. He had the choice of staying on the dark side, safe, as a member of a group that most of his family were a part of, a group led by a sadistic, megalomaniac half-blood who asked Draco to follow his orders blindly and without hesitation. Or, he could flee from the group and join the light side, abandon his family, leave all that he had ever known and risk certain death. Hermione felt sorry for him. It was not surprising that he had wanted to confide in her.

But she just hadn't been able to bring herself to allow him to. His apology had seemed sincere, yes, and Hermione had felt such pity for the way he had seemed so disgusted with himself and of the things he had allowed himself to do. The way he had cried so freely in front of her, pleaded so desperately with her to allow him to stay and talk with her truly broke her heart, but Hermione was one to hold grudges and simply could not find it within herself to forgive Draco just yet. He had hurt her so much for so long, and to her one heartfelt apology was simply not enough for her to put all he had done to her behind her and become his confidant, perhaps more.

It had been painful to make that decision as what Hermione had begun to feel for the side of Draco that she knew lay buried deep within him, that he had revealed to her on a few wonderful occasions, was becoming more and more deep set with every day that passed. She found it disgusting that she felt more than pity for Draco – she had told him that she loved him, for Merlin's sake. That had been a foolish thing to do, she knew. It was wrong that after everything he had done to her, all the taunting and name calling, the physical injury, acting amiably to her one day and then viciously the next and messing with her emotions that Hermione was able to feel anything but hatred for him. But the feelings were there. As he had said, 'We can not help who we love.'

Draco continued to watch Hermione throughout breakfast, much to Harry and Ron's dismay. She stayed silent as they grumbled about him, ate her bowl of porridge, – which was delicious, as usual – feigned reading the paper so Harry and Ron would not disturb her and stared right back at him. He wore an expression of twisted joy – yes, the Malfoy façade was back – as he stared at her, mildly surprised that she did not wither away from his gaze as she usually did. He seemed to be challenging her to get up from her table, stride over to him and ask him what he wanted, but she did not, merely content to drink every glorious inch – oh, how conflicted she was – of him and lose herself in all of her memories of him, trying desperately to make up her mind: she had told him she needed time to think, and think she most certainly was. It was impossible for her to decide whether or not she would accept his request of companionship. The reasons not to accept and the reasons to accept the request were equal in number. She was desperate to know what he was thinking. Truly desperate. She felt like screaming and tearing out her hair; Hermione was full of teenage angst.

Breakfast flew by. She got up to leave, keeping her eyes fixed on Draco as she did so. He noticed that she was taking her leave and hastily pulled something from one of the pockets of his finely tailored robes, placed it in his owl's beak and scratched behind its ear. It fluttered away from the Slytherin table and not out of the hall as she had expected it to, but towards her.

Dumbstruck, she watched it get closer and closer. Finally, it landed next to her, hooting to announce that she had mail. With a shaking hand she took the folded up piece of parchment from its open beak. It hooted again – a goodbye – and took to the air. It glided across the great hall and landed next to it's master, who looked down at it and scratched it's ear affectionately. He looked up, smiling, and his smile turned into a smirk when he saw Hermione was still watching him, that gormless expression still present on her face. Draco's eyes were sparkling. They silently challenged her to open the piece of parchment in her hands. She did.

_Granger, _he had written in his elegant script. _Take a short walk with me in the grounds? Now?_ _I need to talk to you. Draco._

Hermione looked up from the parchment and stared at Draco, scowling. He wore a quizzing expression, obviously wanting an answer to his request. Hermione sighed, furrowed her brows and shook her head. His face fell into an irritated pout and he got up and stalked out of the great hall.

Ron had noticed that she held a note in her now clenched fist. 'Who's the note from, 'Mione?'

'No-one.' She muttered and rushed off to lessons.

*

During breakfast for the next three days Hermione and Draco stared at each other across the hall. Hermione's gaze became increasingly longing and conflicted and Draco's grey eyes looked more and more puzzled and hurt. At the end of breakfast, without fail, she received a note from Draco, in the same neat writing, brought to her by his large black owl. All of them requested the same thing: a quick walk in the grounds. Each time a very hopeful Draco received a curt shake of the head from Hermione, and each time his face fell into that same disdainful pout and he stalked out of the hall. She avoided him as much as she could the rest of the time.

Both Harry and Ron had noticed that she was becoming very silent, thoughtful and withdrawn and constantly asked what the matter was, but she did not cave in. A battle raged in her head; Hermione was still unsure what to do regarding Draco's desire to talk to her and become friendly with her. Eventually Harry and Ron gave up and stopped asking her why she was so quiet, and left her to ponder.

By the fourth day, a Saturday, Hermione had made up her mind. She was reluctant to keep her eyes locked with Draco's at breakfast, fearful that if she did she would vomit, but she calmed her queasy stomach with a mug of hot tea and sipped it absentmindedly as she stared at him. The end of breakfast came and the owl swooped over to her. She did not even bother reading the note. Draco watched her intently, his eyes pleading with her to nod, nod and take that stroll with him.

Hermione closed her eyes, ran one of her quivering hands through her wild curls, sighed and gave three quick, small nods that would not have been discernable to anyone but Draco.

--

**Whew! I'm so sorry that you've all had to wait so long for this chapter, I've felt little motivation to write over the past six days and when I finally did get down to do some writing yesterday I found it very hard to get any writing done. D: Thankfully I got the first part done, which was the bit I was having most trouble with - it's really hard to write Draco in pain, bless him - and then the latter bits just flew out of me. :) As an apology that chapter was super long, longer than I originally intended it to be. I think it's the longest one yet! I hope you enjoyed it! I think this has been my favourite chapter because of the soul searching and confliction on Hermione's part, and Draco's realization of what a twat he's been towards Hermione. It's nice that he's not being such a bastard, isn't it? C:**

**What do you all think is going to happen next? I'm not too sure myself yet... Review and give me some ideas on what you think should happen during their walk, it would be lovely to see what you all think!**

**Please review this chapter if you enjoyed it, or even if you didn't. I put a great deal of time and effort into writing this story and it irritates me just a little bit when I don't get a great response for a chapter... You're all there reading, I can see that (400 of you read the last chapter and only 23 reviewed?), why don't you review? Argh! Reviews are for me like flower nectar is to bees... Make me a happy bee and review! Bzz! :D**

**I hope to update in the next week, but I warn you now, I start school again on Tuesday and this is a very important year for me. ;-; I promise to get another chapter up as quickly as I possibly can, though!**

**Mentions for reviewers of the last chapter, as always:**

mysteryssister, Coloring the Sky, .xXx, ixamxsquee, Kitty, CyberDog101, LukeyLover (Oh! I loved your review! It made me giggle! :D), Queen of Lunacy, hemery, Lin Koorbloh (You can hug everyone, haha c: ), Courtney (Too much of a wuss? I have to disagree... Re-read HP6, please, you'll see how emotional and conflicted Draco was), AnnaOtaku, Doni, starlight-x-A-x, DragonGirl323, Stevie/Megan, SaraSyco, MissStud, laurelad12, rosebud23, Evans17, and SnowCharms!

**Lots of love,**

**Laura :)**

**P.S. 20 chapter milestone! Wootwoot! -parties-  
**


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